


For a Demon with a Queen

by Strigi



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexuality, Domestic Violence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Independent Vegas, Legion faction, Mildly Dubious Consent, Polyamory, Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 36,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strigi/pseuds/Strigi
Summary: The Courier remembers nothing from Before the Bullet, not even her name. Before she can even reach New Vegas to exact her revenge, capture and enslavement drag her down a different path, and though she tries to maintain a stalwart goodness in the face of the most evil man in the Mojave, she falls victim to her own past of misadventure.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This was previously posted onto FFN but I decided to share here as well. As a forewarning, several personal liberties have been taken that alter the story line and characters. Not so much in THIS chapter, but definitely in later chapters. The running idea is fashioning a good-karma Courier that would plausibly end up with a faction of bad-karma denizens.

She had been travelling with Boone, going back and forth from Novac to REPCONN to settle the dispute with the neighboring ghouls. During one excursion, they stopped at NCR Ranger Station Charlie only to discover it completely sacked, all the NCR rangers killed.

Boone reacted indifferently, claiming he knew none of the victims. She stared in shock. The holotape and Legion casualties left behind were answer enough to identify the assailants. Boone started dragging the bodies outside. They couldn't burn them or risk alerting the Legion of their location, but she suspected the rangers received a more respectful _burial_ than the legionnaires.

When Boone returned from disposing the corpses, she was replaying the holotape for the third time.

"This wasn't just an attack," she told him. "This was an execution."

"Are you surprised after Nipton?" Boone grunted.

She looked away without responding. She remembered the smoldering pile that used to be Nipton. She had reached the town just after it had happened. The leader of the Frumentarii merely glanced at her from a distance before continuing on his way. The message was clear. The Legion was dangerous, and everyone needed to know it.

"We'll stay here for the night," Boone decided.

"Are you sure that's safe?" she asked him dubiously. "What if they return?"

"It's unlikely that they will. It's much more probable that we would just run into them on the road back to Novac. I'd rather bunker down here than face them in the dark."

So it was decided, although she wasn't completely convinced of his reassuring words. They looked for food among the ruins of the station and shared a meal of canned beans and beer over the campfire.

As usual, the Mojave turned chilly once the sun disappeared, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. It was one of the few things she had possessed Before the Bullet, before she had lost her memory when she was shot in the head. She had no idea of the shawl's personal significance. It was black with pink and white specks, and it was starting to go threadbare. She suspected it must have been special to her in some way and so she clung to it desperately, as if it might reveal some shred of information about her past.

"So, Boulder City?" said Boone. He rarely spoke in completely sentences.

Her cheeks were warm with the beer. Alcohol was not her typical beverage of choice, but it could not be denied that it was more abundantly available than water. "Boulder City," she simply affirmed.

Manny Vargas had recently divulged that the Great Khans and Checkered Jacket—the man who shot her—were on their way to Boulder City after leaving Novac. She pursued them, chasing for answers. Perhaps as well as a small amount of revenge.

"Will you stay in Novac?" she asked him.

Boone looked at her over his sunglasses. His eyes looked misty from the campfire. His voice remained stoic. "Doubt it. There's nothing left for me in Novac." Boone had had his own serving of revenge, and she knew he was referring to the abduction of his wife. Another reason to hate the Legion. She had never told him that Carla had been pregnant, a truth she had discovered from the Legion receipt papers. She feared that the truth would be too painful for him.

"You could come with me," she offered in a small voice.

"To Boulder City?" He scoffed, but it sounded more like a grunt.

"I have a feeling that my journey won't stop at Boulder City."

He grunted again. "Nothing better to do anyway."

She looked away, hating how he made it sound like a chore.

But Boone was a man in pain, and his drinking didn't stop with his first beer. Soon, his cheeks were just as red as hers. He inched closer to her on the bench, even as she kicked the campfire out.

"I'm sorry," he slurred. She smelled the beer on his breath.

"You don't have to be sorry," she said. "I get it."

"No, it's no reason to be an ass to you."

She said nothing. Boone talked a lot more when he was drunk.

"Truth is, you remind me a lot of her."

She had never met Carla, so she had no insight to determine if the comparison was a good or bad one. Most of Novac was under the impression that Carla was a selfish bitch. She wanted to at least give the dead the benefit of the doubt.

"She was determined. Hell of an understatement. But despite her tough attitude, she always had this innocence of the wasteland. Sheltered, whatever. It's almost as if she didn't belong in such a brutal world."

She touched the raised scars hidden in her hairline, understanding more than most what a brutal world the Mojave Wasteland was.

"And like her, you don't let the darkness extinguish your spirit."

In an uncharacteristically tender moment, Boone reached out to cradle her cheek. She turned her face into his palm, relishing the heat.

And then he moved in to reach her lips, and she did not think she would have turned him away.

But she did, pulling out of his grasp. "Your wife," was her only explanation.

Boone's tenderness instantly faded. The grim lines returned to his face. "Carla is dead."

"How can you be so sure? I wouldn't want you to give up so easily on me."

Boone's silence was tense. She reached to touch his face.

But the moment was gone. He got to his feet. "I'll take the first watch." And then he disappeared.

With little else to do, she chose a gutted-out camper with the cleanest-looking mattress for the night. The beer sent her to sleep quickly with dreams of burnt clothes and hazy desert. No recurring dream tonight with forgotten, whispered promises in a distant cave.

She didn't know how long it had been. The stiffness in her neck suggested hours, but suddenly her face was scraping against the ground as someone dragged her feet.

She struggled against them, but others were there to restrain her. She was bound and tied in no time.

She was turned on her back, allowing her to see her red-clad captors.

Legion.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As noted before, some liberties have been taken with plot and characters already existing in New Vegas. Silus has a more prominent role in this story, more expanded upon, with more involvement to the affairs of the Legion in the Mojave. (You might recognize some sort of semblance to his in-game dialogue.) Also, I feel like I should at least establish now: my Fem!Courier will consistently be referred to as "she" until further notice/clarification. There's a reason for this, and it might sometimes make things confusing when more female characters are involved.

They took her weapons, her supplies, and then subjected her to a taxing march through the Mojave.

She didn't know what became of Boone; she was their only captive. If he had survived, she didn't expect him to chase the Legion for her. So she faced her fate with as much gravity and stoicism as she could muster.

They passed settlements she barely recognized, Camp Searchlight chief among them. They gave the town a wide berth as the Legion Explorers expertly dodged NCR troops and dangerous terrain.

They fed her nothing on their journey. Surprisingly, with the Legion's infamous reputation with women, they didn't touch her either. She didn't see this as a blessing just yet.

When her head hurt and her lips cracked from the heat, they arrived. Cottonwood Cove. It was then she knew she had been brought to be made a slave.

For a small pouch of bottle caps, she was passed over to a man named Canyon Runner, and she watched the worth of her life being haggled over the light chink of rusted metal and a few reverent remarks of _Ave, true to Caesar!_

But here at Cottonwood Cove, she was apparently not good enough to be called a slave yet. A _Capture_. A man named Silus graced her with the slave collar, the instrument that would ensure her obedience over the possibility of an exploding decapitation. As Silus happily tightened it around her neck, he explained the significance of the collar's tightness.

"You'll never forget your place," he sneered with unflinching flint eyes. "With every swallow, every turn of the head, you'll feel it cutting into your skin even more."

She said nothing, returning his steely gaze with one of her own.

He smirked. "Silent but deadly, aren't you? Don't worry, we'll break you of that too."

He passed her back over to Canyon Runner who asked her a few questions to asses her value.

"Ever had children?" His voice was monotone, as if these aspects of her life had no real significance outside the quality of Legion livestock.

"No," was her quiet, severe answer.

"Do you know anything about medicine?"

"Quite a bit," she admitted smugly. "But I know more about computers, technology."

He gave her a blank, almost disbelieving look and then continued with his questions, as if her skills with technology were of no importance.

Whatever value he determined that she had, he decided she would remain in the Mojave, to be put to use at the Fort. She had changed into the designated slave rags made of dirty canvas marked with red paint. They had allowed her to keep her precious shawl, and she counted that as a true blessing.

But her journey to the Fort was delayed for some mysterious reason. She stayed at Cottonwood Cove in their penned-in cage. Her head pressed against the chain-link fencing for several days. She often dozed to the sound of insects buzzing with the sun beating mercilessly on her back.

She was vigilant for any possibilities for escape, but the primary concern was pilfering the key that unlocked her slave collar. Without that key, any escape would be futile. And she would not be driven to the edge of suicide by these people. She valued her life more than that.

So in the long, painful moments of the day, she imagined her escape, stealthy and brilliant. She fancied Boone returning for her. She fantasized a long cool draught of water on her lips. Canyon Runner took his time in assessing the other captures, a family called Weatherlys, and individually determined their usefulness. The girl Sammy was almost immediately whisked away. Her mother and the man lingered for a while longer.

Then one day in the middle of her fantasies, the gate banged open, and Canyon Runner approached her.

"It is time. The Cursor Lucullus will take you to the fort."


	3. Chapter 3

The raft ride to the Fort took several hours. Though she had done very little to exert herself at Cottonwood Cove, a deep exhaustion settled in her bones. She curled up on the raft and slept most of the ride.

It was late in the afternoon when the raft docked. She shot up, looking at the menacing structure of the Legion camp. It stirred a nervous anxiety within her stomach, and she cursed her idleness at Cottonwood. She should have worked harder to try to escape instead of numbly accepting her fate as a slave.

The Cursor impatiently prodded her off the raft. "You are to work as a healer with Siri."

Siri worked near the top of Fortification Hill. The arena sat across from her tent, and Caesar's tent was within sight.

Siri herself was a dark, thin woman originally from Arizona. Her manner was brusque, and her head was perpetually bent to the ground.

"What's your name?" Siri asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't have a name."

"Then what do they call you?"

She thought a long moment, considering. "Courier Six."

Siri nodded. "You were a courier. I hear that's dangerous work. Come, Courier. I will show you how to make healing powder."

She already knew how to make healing powder and apparently better than Siri did. She showed the seasoned healer how to use her ingredients more efficiently. Siri thanked her profusely, hoping the Legion didn't discover how she was wasting their resources.

Crafting healing powder wasn't particularly difficult work, but then she learned there was more to a job of a healer. Siri explained the Legion didn't subscribe to the use of chemicals or drugs. Stimpaks and alcohol, other addictive substances were banned. The Legion required the use of a skillful healer.

"Sometimes, there is a lot of blood. So much red. You have to get used to it."

She could have never imagined herself getting used to the sight of blood, but she nodded all the same, chewing her lip and continuing her work. Despite Siri's hunched manner, Siri insisted on speaking to her.

"You are young and pretty," Siri observed. She detected a note of envy from the woman. "You are very lucky most of the men aren't here."

She looked back up at Siri, keeping her face blank.

"Tie your hair back. It makes you an easy target."

She took Siri's advice, pulling it back into a braid and noticing Siri's own shaved head. "Where are most of the men?"

"Not here. They'll be back soon."

After Siri's remark, she warily eyed the legionnaires around her. Outside of her warnings, Siri took little pity of her, sending her on deliveries for the rest of the evening. One delivery even took her to Caesar's tent. As she handed a soporific to Commander Lucius, she took the opportunity to look around, but Caesar wasn't on his throne or around nearby.

"Did you need anything else?" Lucius asked sharply, breaking her momentary reverie.

Startled, she shook her head and ran past the praetorians and out of the tent.

Nightfall brought a new weariness to her limbs. She gratefully fell on her itchy cot that evening next to Siri. She quickly fell into a comatose slumber.

And just as quickly, it was interrupted by a piercing cry. She started, blinked, and realized it was the wailing of an infant. Some of the slaves groaned in response, muttering darkly as they tried to go back to sleep.

"What is that?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Siri was still awake. "One of the newer slaves. Carla and her baby."

"Carla?" she repeated, daring herself to wonder if it was the same Carla of Boone's fame.

Siri had little empathy. "That baby will go on and on all night."

Nobody moved to help the mother with her wailing infant, so she stood up and followed the noise. It came from another tent, and Carla sat hunched in the very corner, rocking her bundle back and forth. It was a task just reaching her without stepping on anyone. She crouched in front of Carla.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

Carla glanced up at her, her voice a broken whisper. "He's so hungry. I can't produce enough milk for him to eat, so I try to put him to sleep. But the desert is _so_ cold at night." A wind rustled the frame of the tent to prove her words. Carla continued furiously bouncing the infant.

She chewed her lip, thinking hard. She absently pulled at her shawl, and suddenly her answer was revealed to her. With a tinge of reluctance, she unwound it from her neck and handed it over. "Here. He'll be warmer."

Carla's eyes went wide with her gratitude. She quickly wrapped it around the baby. "You are so generous. I've never seen such kindness here at the camp, even from the other slaves."

Her smile felt more like a wince. "This is my first day on the Hill. Perhaps they'll burn it out of me yet."

She stayed a while longer and watched as the shawl slowly worked its magic and the baby quieted. She gazed at its flabby face with rapt interest. She knew from its size that it was not very old.

"What's the name?" she asked.

Carla couldn't resist the fond smile that floated to her face. "Craig, after his father."

She had no doubt now. Here was Craig Boone's family.


	4. Chapter 4

As a memento to her friendship with Boone, she was driven to a new dedication for Carla and Baby Craig. It gave her a new sense of purpose.

To help Carla produce milk, she shared half of her own meal rations. And sometimes, she saw golden opportunities when the food tent was left unattended in rare, perfect moments. She pilfered an extra loaf or a cut of meat and always gave it to Carla.

Siri was not blind to her absences. Her eyes narrowed into daggers whenever she hurriedly reappeared for her chores.

"I would be careful if I were you."

She didn't grace Siri with a response.

"They notice everything. Their record-keeping is always perfect," Siri pressed.

"Do you keep those records for them?" she countered.

Siri was unphased. "The Centurion Silus will be here today. He takes a keen interest in the slaves."

"I am not afraid of _Silus_ ," she hissed darkly, turning her back to the seasoned slave as she remembered the brutish braggart of a man.

Siri was dauntless. "Well then the most evil man in the Wasteland should. He returns today as well."

"The most evil man?" she repeated, almost laughing.

Siri's voice was grave. "They say with one word he brought a whole city to its knees."

Her patience left her entirely. "Must have been a hell of a word."

* * *

Vulpes Inculta had returned to Fortification Hill. When he entered Caesar's tent to deliver news of the Mojave, Caesar was already preoccupied by another matter. Interestingly enough, a _slave_ matter, which Vulpes thought was strange. Caesar rarely took an interest in the affairs of slaves.

The slave girl was on her knees, and Vulpes barely glanced at her as he passed.

Caesar continued his interrogation. "If you did not steal the food, then you would not have been hiding while you were eating it. We already give you extra rations for the baby as it is, and you want more?"

Now Vulpes understood. Any theft was taken as a personal affront to the Caesar, but the girl remained obstinately silent.

"I believe thirty lashings will loosen your tongue."

Vulpes went to stand at his lord's right side and stared down at the profligate girl with dead eyes.

But once he laid eyes on the girl, his entire demeanor changed, and he tried suppressing the rise in his chest. The slave had a baby with her, which concerned him very little. But tied around this mother and her baby was a shawl fashioned into an infant sling. Black with pink and white flecks. Nearly threadbare now.

He recognized it and knew it did not belong to this profligate.

Keeping his outward expression unchanged, he tried a different tactic for his Caesar. He approached the profligate and ripped the shawl from her shoulders. She held fast to her child so it wouldn't fall.

Then Vulpes shoved the shawl in her face. His voice was muted but clear. "Where did you get this?"

Confusion clouded the woman's face. The possession of the shawl was not on her mind when she was being summoned to Caesar's tent for stealing food. "What business of that is yours?" she asked.

Vulpes straightened, keeping the shawl with him. He cast a meaningful gaze to Caesar. "I doubt a mother struggling with an infant would have the fortitude to steal from us."

Caesar immediately understood. "Who gave you the shawl, then?"

The profligate became even more tight-lipped than before, focusing her eyes on the floor.

Caesar looked as though he had grown bored with the interrogation. But Vulpes could not afford for his lord to lose his patience. He had to find the real owner of the shawl, and so it was somewhat of a task to hide his desperation.

So Vulpes approached the mother again and tore the child away from her. The infant began screeching and squawling in protest, and his mother buried her face in her hands in suffocating sobs. Vulpes was immune to the effects of both.

"Just one name. Just one word. If your child is so important to you."

Then finally, she choked out a single word. "Courier."

The word held no meaning for him, and he looked back to see if Caesar recognized the name.

"One of the newest slaves," his lord explained. "No name, just a job title." Then to one of the guards, Caesar ordered, "Bring her here."

Then Vulpes waited for this newest slave with tense anticipation.

The girl pulled into Caesar's tent was not one he expected to see again, despite the wild hope that the shawl in his hands offered. She fearlessly approached Caesar, eyes briefly flitting to the other slave girl sobbing on the ground, her baby now returned to her. She did not kneel, did not lower herself.

"What is your name?" Vulpes asked.

She transferred her gaze from the Caesar to him. She showed absolutely no sign of recognizing him. "I have no name," she answered.

"Everyone has a name," he said. "Whether we like it or not, whether it is bestowed upon us or we fashion them ourselves. A name separates us from the mindless mutations of the Wasteland."

"Some people call me Courier Six, some just Courier. It makes no difference to me. If I had any other name, I do not remember it, so it matters little now."

"You don't remember your name?" Caesar repeated dubiously.

The Courier looked back at his lord, and her eyes were just as empty as her voice. "You might have heard of my story. I was executed in some forgotten graveyard, shot in the head by some coward. But I came back from the grave, perhaps to seek some misplaced revenge. That is, of course, until I was plucked from my camp and fashioned into a slave here."

"Back from the grave," Caesar repeated, allowing his surprise and intrigue to color his tone. "I am impressed." Then Caesar took the shawl from Vulpes. "Does this belong to you?"

"It did."

"You'll be happy to know that we've recovered it from this thieving profligate. She stole something from us as well." Caesar threw the threadbare shawl to the ground.

Vulpes said nothing, fully aware that his lord was attempting to manipulate the truth with his twist of words.

But the Courier, some creature of integrity, was having none of it. She lifted her chin that much higher to correct Caesar. "Carla stole nothing. I gave her the shawl as well as the stolen food you are probably referring to. _I_ stole it, not Carla."

For a moment, Vulpes wasn't sure if it was a quality of integrity or some hopeless pride that surged the tone in her voice. Whatever it was, it continued to impress Caesar.

"You stole the food," he repeated. "Be advised. The Legion does not tolerate thieves, _but_ I do value honesty and fearlessness in the face of consequences." Caesar's smile was pained, if not annoyed. Vulpes wondered if he was suffering from another headache. Caesar continued, "Don't do it again. If anything else is stolen, I don't care what it is or who steals, that baby will see its own cross."

The profligate mother reacted, of course, wailing deeper into her hands, but the Courier remained unmoved. "Is that all, lord Caesar?"

Caesar waved his hand impatiently. "Get out of my sight."


	5. Chapter 5

Once out of the presence of Caesar, she released a shaky breath. She and Carla leaned on each other for support.

"You were really brave," Carla commented quietly.

Her stomach flipped at a nauseating speed. "I don't feel very brave right now." With no legionnaires around, her bold mask fell away, and her body rocked with the aftermath of being completely terrified.

"Thank you," Carla told her.

She shrugged off her thanks and dusted off her shawl before handing it back to her.

Carla shivered, clutching Baby Craig closer to her chest. "He took Craig, grabbed him right out of my hands."

"Caesar?" she asked, appalled.

"No, not Caesar. The other one. Vulpes Inculta, the most evil man in the Mojave."

She thought of the other Legion officer present in the tent. His cold, almost serene nature did not suggest an evil stature. When she had first entered Caesar's tent, his gaze had been piercing, which was unnerving in and of itself. But he did not have the same bold cruelty as Silus did when the centurion tightened the slave collar around her neck. If Vulpes Inculta was truly so evil, then he kept it restrained and subdued better than any other man in the Legion.

For the sake of Baby Craig, she no longer stole food for Carla, but she did continue to halve her own rations, even at the expense of her own ravenous hunger. Siri's glances were disapproving but no longer accompanied by disparaging comments.

Silus the Centurion arrived at Fortification Hill as Siri had promised. She saw him crossing over the drawbridge and actively avoided him since. With his arrival came a new influx of legion soldiers. She avoided those too.

In addition to her healing duties, she also helped Carla wash clothes and linens and repair legion armor. The legion quartermaster recognized her technical skills and would frequently call her back, much to Siri's annoyance.

But the addition of soldiers meant that the healer's tent required more of her time. Her fingers were perpetually stained red from her endless stitching of skin. She thought she understood what Siri meant about getting used to the sight of blood.

One Legion Explorer entered the tent, and despite all of their best efforts, he lost one of his legs. It didn't matter which one. Though she and Siri had saved his life, the legionnaire just kept shaking his head. His comrades handed him a machete.

She left the tent almost too late, belatedly realizing their intentions. An honorable suicide. She could have scoffed.

A legionnaire with one leg had no purpose left. He couldn't fight. There was only one alternative for him, and a derisive laugh threatened to bubble from her lips.

She wasn't amused. It was horrible. And the Legion value of life angered her to the point of recklessness, so she almost missed Siri following her to the howitzer.

"Don't storm off like that again," Siri warned in a low voice.

"I won't stay around for that," she said, almost yelling. Still too loud.

"Then close your eyes next time," Siri snapped. "You march off like that again and some captain might think you're being disrespectful. You know what happens then? You won't get the courtesy of a quick blade. You'll be crucified and left alive for too many agonizing days."

"Because my life means so much to the Legion right now?" she argued. She couldn't help fighting with Siri. Her irritation had reached peaked levels.

"That's right. Your life means shit to the Legion, and if you keep it up, you'll be no better off than the man you just abandoned. We may be slaves but you choose your own fate here."

Siri stormed off then, and she was glad to see the healer gone.

She hid her face in her hands, a deep resentment suffocating her chest. She couldn't stay here. She had to leave or the Legion would be the death of her.

"You might want to mind your words, or at least your volume," warned a voice, not unkindly.

She looked up to see Vulpes Inculta standing before her. She imagined Siri instructing her to bow or incline her head to him, some gesture of subservience. She did none of those things.

"Your concern is not misplaced," he continued. "But the Legion expresses a different system of values and honor, primarily militaristic. As you have already deduced, you and the other slave women do not stand very high on that list."

He sounded intelligent, incredibly educated. Perhaps that was what made him dangerous. Caesar himself fashioned an empire of Pre-war history, hinting an extremely well-read individual. But she could not fathom Vulpes Inculta's reason for speaking to her now.

"Are you threatening me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling. Something about him sparked a primal fear, a restless anxiety.

"You should take care of who hears your thoughts. Not many are as open-minded as I. While your bravery is indeed admirable, individuality for a slave means getting noticed. A slave woman getting noticed is a dangerous venture, especially for one so young and pretty, one with spirit."

"And that means?" she asked in a thick voice. Despite the fear he incurred, Vulpes Inculta was inexplicably inspiring.

"Your friend warned you of our crucifixions but she wasn't entirely correct. That's merciful compared to the other fates you could suffer here. I'm told that spirit can be so much fun to break."

She hadn't realized he had drawn close enough to be inches away from her face. She hadn't realized she had been shaking so violently. Both became apparent to her only after Vulpes Inculta turned his back and smoothly strode away.

After her first personal encounter with Vulpes, she sought out Carla and Baby Craig and spent the remainder of the day entertaining Baby Craig to get her mind off of things.

At one point, she looked up and saw Silus watching her from a distance. Where Vulpes had been calculating, Silus was smug and hungry. In spite of this, she didn't look away. She might regret that later.


	6. Chapter 6

Three days had passed since her warning from Vulpes, but her plan to lie low decimated when two Praetorians came to retrieve her.

"I don't understand!" she said, kicking at her escorts as they pulled her along. "What's going on?"

"You're being summoned to the arena. You've been challenged for a fight."

She was hauled to the arena, fashioned much like for the ancient Roman, gladiatorial fights. They tossed her inside, and she rolled through the dust. Another slave, a man, came barreling after her, wielding a machete. She scrambled to her feet, picking up her own machete they had thrown in after her. She managed to lift the blade in time to fend off his first strike.

She stumbled backward, and he staggered toward her.

"What are you doing?"

"They told me that if I killed you, I could win my freedom," he explained, panting. He screamed, hurtling toward her again. She narrowly dodged out of the way, her head buzzing with fatigue. She certainly felt like she had been giving up half her rations.

She looked around at the spectators, all manner of Legion and officer alike. Caesar even watched from near his tent, looking down on the arena. Among the officers, she saw Vulpes Inculta, and something in her chest twitched. She drilled her attention to her attacker, who began charging for her again.

"Stop!" she tried pleading to him. "I don't want to hurt you!"

The man scoffed, a guttural sound that rumbled through his teeth like spittle. "As if a woman could hurt me."

She dodged some more attacks before trying to appeal to his logic. "They're not going to free you, even if you do kill me."

"There's only one way to find out."

He charged her again, this time nicking her arm. She gritted her teeth against the pain, and turned to meet him again. She didn't want to kill him, especially since he had been enslaved like her. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that he left her little choice.

She ducked at his next swing, turning to slice his Achilles heel. The man howled in pain and crashed to the ground, still flailing his weapon about. His blade caught her calf, and she joined him on the ground.

He began to drag himself across the dirt toward her, wildly waving his machete. She raised hers in time to meet his before it could rake her face. But he pushed with all his might against her.

She reached up and tore into his fingers with her teeth. Her mouth filled with blood, and he fell back, howling. She realized rather belatedly that she had managed to sever one of his fingers.

Before he could reach for his fallen weapon, she shoved hers into his throat, quieting his screams and stilling his movements.

There was a pregnant pause.

She spit up the blood in her mouth and saw how it pooled on the ground and swirled with the dust. She was panting, her hands shaking. The cut on her arm was nothing. The wound on her calf hurt like nothing else.

She realized there was silence, because no one was cheering for a woman victor. They all stared at her, aghast. She climbed to her feet, looking Caesar in the eye. "Where is my freedom?" she demanded.

He looked down at her smoothly. "The offer was made to him, not you." Then Caesar turned and left, offering no further attention to her victory, along with the rest of the spectators.

Vulpes Inculta lingered, and there was something like a smirk glinting in his eyes. They were still staring at each other when the Praetorian guard came to collect the weapons. As soon as she looked away and back again, Vulpes was gone.

She was alone with the corpse of her challenger, who had thought his freedom would be easily won by conquering a mere woman. She looked at the blood on her hands, feeling her leg throb. The blood trailed down her face, coating her neck and slave rags. When she limped away, she headed straight for the river to wash herself.

Her movements were shaky, not from exhaustion although that certainly contributed, but she was suddenly nervous. Her fight in the arena would not be ignored, perhaps considered as an affront to the male sex. After trying all this time to be unnoticed, she had done a lot to draw attention to herself. It wouldn't be long before prowling men came looking for her, and her heart hammered at the thought.

She kept her hair loose as she made her way back through the camp. But perhaps that was a mistake itself. Long hair seemed to be a rare commodity among the slave women. She slept beside Carla that night, hoping Baby Craig's cries would be a deterrent to any potential rapists. None came. Even so, she couldn't sleep, and spent most of the night picking at the dried blood on her fingernails and thinking of Vulpes Inculta's face as it sent shivers down her spine.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for attempted rape in this chapter.

The next day, she did a pretty good job of binding her leg, especially without medicine. It was tighter than her slave collar, and she could feel the veins in her leg pump with blood. Walking still proved to be a great exercise, but she made do.

"Do slave women usually go to the arena?" she asked Siri, deciding to work with the healer that day.

Siri shook her head. "Yesterday was a first."

Siri had her making deliveries, even though she pointed out that her leg was injured. But Siri refused to take pity, claiming she had seniority between them. She thought that was coldly cruel as she shuffled between Legion tents.

Most of the recipients of her deliveries regarded her with a strange eye, perhaps recognizing her from the previous day's arena battle. Perhaps they were afraid of her, and in the case of legionnaires, that suited her just fine.

Supper came, and she went to find Carla to give her half her share as had become their routine. From what she could tell, it at least seemed to be helping Baby Craig. She was grateful her efforts were being rewarded somewhere.

"He's looking at you," Carla whispered under her breath.

"Who?" she asked, looking about the camp.

The answer was obvious as soon as she took her gaze off her meal. Vulpes was staring at her from a distance, but his eyes were clearly on _her_. He made no move to hide it when she returned his gaze. There was something about his penetrating eyes that made her feel as though she was guilty of something. She scratched her arm and looked away.

His warnings of getting noticed resounded through her head. Her fight with the other slave had probably not worked in her favor. Now the legionnaires knew. Here was a woman who had shown her superiority against a man in battle. It was almost a challenge. Who could dominate the woman that conquered death itself?

She rose to her feet, taking her and Carla's bowls to return to the food tent. She fled from the area as fast as her leg would allow her, keeping her head down. Once she was clear from Vulpes Inculta's line of sight, she stopped to regain her bearings. She ran a hand through her hair, wondering what had made her so eager to leave. There was an intensity to his gaze she had not seen from anyone else before, and it honestly frightened her. She couldn't imagine what she had done to pique his interest, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to.

But then someone caught her shoulder, spinning her around and making her think this path wasn't the best idea. The face of some braggart of a legionnaire appeared before her. She didn't remember his name, only that she had seen him earlier when she been making her deliveries

She realized the futility of having herself cornered in a deserted area of camp. She didn't miss how his eyes traveled down her frame. His face was eager, and her stomach gave a sickening flip. She clutched the metal bowls, deciding she could use them as a weapon if nothing else.

"Slaves shouldn't be wandering off," he said.

"I'm not wandering," she said quickly, showing him the bowls. "I was returning these."

He reached out to touch her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away. His breath blew in her face. "Not many women have such long hair, _profligate whore_."

He pulled her closer, smearing his dirty hand across her cheek. "I bet I could have taken you in the arena."

She did not argue. She said nothing. Her face went white.

"But I'll settle for taking you now."

She tried twisting out of his grip but had little success. He squeezed her shoulder even harder.

Then she shoved against him, making him lose his balance, and she ran for it.

He easily caught up to her though, especially with her lame leg. He yanked her hair, pulling her to the ground. In one rough movement, he pushed up the hem of her slave rags and pinned her to the ground.

" _Stop_!" she yelled, as loud as she could.

He dropped to his knees, his hands already making their way up her legs. "Scream as loud as you want. No one is going to help you."

He squeezed the back of her injured calf, and painful bursts of white light erupted behind her eyelids. She could feel hot blood escaping the scabs and bandages. Her other leg jerked up to kick, but he easily restrained it with his heavy body. His hands fumbled with the clasps at his kilt.

" _Stop it_!" she screamed again, tears trailing down her face.

With every scream she made, he pulled her hair even harder. She didn't stop screaming and squeezed her eyes shut.

By some stroke of luck, the legionnaire was suddenly off of her, sprawling around in the nearby dirt and clutching at a bleeding wound on his head. He vocalized his confusion in a series of strangled mumbling. "What are you doing?" he finally managed.

In the waning dusk, she saw a figure towering above them. After a moment, she recognized her savior as Vulpes Inculta. She remained frozen where she was, a mixture of relief and shock staying her limbs.

He was calm, and his voice was clear. "You will not touch her. Never again."

"What does it matter?" her attacker sputtered. "She's just a slave."

Something about that seemed to anger Vulpes. "She is not _just_ a slave. Go now, before I decide to kill you myself."

The man scrambled away without further encouragement. Vulpes then turned his gaze to her, and she had no words to offer him. A niggling thought persisted to her that he probably intended on taking her himself, but Vulpes made no move toward her. They stared at each other for a long while.

With the tears drying on her cheeks, she decided gratitude would not be misplaced. "Thank you," she said carefully.

With a deft movement, he pulled her back to her feet. "Do not thank me yet. Caesar will hear of this." He paused. "Did I not warn you about getting noticed?"

Her voice was thick and angry. "Do you think I asked for this?"

Vulpes chose not to reply to that, and she knew his silence was just as calculating as his words.

"Was this your first rapist?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Admittedly, I'm surprised. Perhaps your spirit also intimidates them."

"And you?" she returned accusingly.

He evened his gaze with her. "Very little intimidates me, _Maria_."

"Maria?" she repeated, confused.

He said nothing and turned to leave.

"Why?" she called out.

He paused and turned toward her. "That question can have several implications, so you will have to be more specific. What do you mean?"

There were several questions she would have liked to ask him, but she settled for the more pressing one on her mind. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because what I had said before remains true. You are more than a slave, more than a profligate whore. You are not like your friend with the baby. You are something bigger than any of them understand." He paused. "Even Caesar recognizes this. Not everyone is reborn in death."

She couldn't imagine why he thought that way, but with that, he turned around and continued on his path.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole "Maria" thing will be explained later, but just so you know, it's also heavily symbolic.

He had been correct in assuming Caesar would not be pleased to hear of his actions, and Vulpes listened to Caesar railing at him.

"She is a slave, _a woman_ ; she belongs to the Legion. Her _body_ belongs to the Legion and any legionnaire that desires her. You can't enforce otherwise"

Vulpes was calm, though he was treading dangerous waters. Women were an awfully sensitive subject to Caesar. But something in Vulpes stirred, something akin to a protective rage. The last thing he wanted in this world was her getting raped, and that went against all Legion training that had been so deeply-ingrained in his soul. He had a higher calling, a higher duty and loyalty than to the condition of _this girl_. _Maria_.

He leaned closer to Caesar and attempted the dangerous by challenging him. "Isn't the Legion supposed to be better than the profligates? Aren't we supposed to rise above the debased hungers that the degenerates so easily succumb to?"

To his surprise, Caesar laughed. "In an ideal world, perhaps. The Legion isn't perfect by any means, Vulpes. Men have their desires, and I would be foolish to deny them their innate right. If you care so much for this girl's virginity, then take her for a wife. Then no one would be able to touch her, aside from you."

His whole body tensed at the idea. In some fantasy, he had considered this same thought but never put enough merit to it to actually believe it realized. What stopped him was an uncharacteristic bout of insecurity. He did not think she would want to marry him, not that she would actually have a choice in the matter. Even so, it was the only solution that made sense, especially since he was so hell-bent on protecting her.

"What's your decision, Vulpes? I don't have all day," Caesar demanded.

Vulpes steeled himself for it.

* * *

Her brush with rape cemented her conviction to escape.

So she carefully watched all the legionnaires, their every move, every breath. The key to escape was quite literally a key to the slave collars. She feared that the Legion might not even keep one around, but she made its remarkable discovery and watched it like a bird of prey.

She knew which centurion had it and when. And she waited for her golden opportunity.

She told only Carla of her plan, having it in mind to take her and Baby Craig with her. She could not possibly release every slave, but she could leave the key where other slaves could make their own attempts for freedom.

A plan began taking shape in her head. They would do it at night. So she watched sentry movements instead of sleeping. She tested the perimeter during the day for weaknesses. And after a week of careful plotting, she was ready.

It was a miracle, she realized, that no other rape attempt had occurred, but perhaps she had Vulpes to thank for that.

Then a strange notion came to her, that she might actually miss Vulpes Inculta, and she stifled the feeling.

To prepare herself, she slept for about an hour in the afternoon. It was then that her recurring dream reappeared.

Since the day Doc Mitchell had brought her back from the dead, she had one reoccurring dream. It didn't come to her every night, but it was frequent enough that it made her think it was something meaningful from her past, a memory desperately trying to resurface into awareness.

_She was far away from the Mojave, that much she knew. It was dark, nighttime, but the air was still unbearably hot, thick with humidity. Sweat drenched her clothes and skin._

_A soft kiss on her brow, sticky with heat. And its whispered promise,_ I'll come back for you at Sunrise. A fox always knows where to go.

_Her knees ached, crouched in some tense position, waiting anxiously. Looking east. The sun would be there, and so would him._

_Hours passed. Night became the gray dawn. Sunrise turned into day. Long shadows disappeared with the high noon sun._

_Still crouched, still waiting. Anxiously waiting._

_Night once more, along with the heartbreak of a violated promise._

_Realizing the lies, she went west where she died and was reborn._

She started from her nap, heart hammering wildly in her chest. Only a dream. Only a dream.

Hours after nightfall, she easily secured the collar key, holding it close and knowing she only had some precious minutes before anyone missed it. Then she went searching for Carla and found her in the designated meeting place, behind the healer's tent. She nodded to her. "Let's go."

They skirted the crest of Fortification Hill, making their way behind Caesar's tent, towards the weather station. She had found a weakness in the fencing there.

They pressed themselves to the darkness and held their breath as guards pass. She carefully counted the seconds, a brief window where their actions would go unnoticed.

When it was time, she unlocked their collars, Carla's first and hers second. Baby Craig had the fortune to not have one, being as small as he was.

She quickly kicked the key and the collars away from them and set to work prying open the loose board that was their gateway to freedom. Her excitement made her breathless, and her fingers fumbled with splinters. She ignored the minuscule pricks of pain; it was nothing compared to enslavement.

When the board finally gave away, her breath caught in her throat. A part of her did not dare to hope to be so lucky. Through the gap she saw nothing but the steep incline of the hill and the glimmering waters of the river.

A wind blew and she tasted the freshness of liberation.

She almost turned back to usher Carla through first when movement caught her eye. She froze, cursing her moment of breathless carelessness.

But then a face appeared before her, knocking the wind out of her once more.

" _Boone_?" she hissed.

He looked utterly exhausted and filthy. She saw her own surprise reflected in his sunglasses.

But he was just as stunned, judging from his voice. "You're escaping?"

"How did you know?" she asked, turning dizzy from her string of lucky coincidences.

"I didn't. I'm sorry. That night they took you, I heard you scream. I tried to save you, but you were already gone. I'm sorry." He took a breath to compose himself. "I came here, doing some recon on the place, hoping I could bust you out. I didn't want you to think I'd given up on you so easily."

Thrilling blood pumped through her ears at his words. And then he gently caressed her cheek. He made a move to kiss her.

But, just as last time, something held her back, the same reason that previously stalled her movements. She pulled away from his sweet tenderness, secretly aching for his touch though knowing it was wrong. Boone was not hers.

"There's someone you should meet," she said, much too sadly for this reunion. She scooted away from the gap and ushered Carla holding Baby Craig through. As it was, Carla heard little or nothing of their exchange, and it only made her feel all the more guilty.

She saw the confusion twist Boone's face, but it was only for a moment until he recognized his wife and son in front of him.

"Carla!"

And then he embraced her much more tenderly than she had ever seen him. It pricked something in her chest, but she pushed the feeling away.

It warmed something in her smile to see the family together again, and she knew she did a good job of keeping Carla and Baby Craig safe. Carla began hiccupping into teary gasps.

Then Carla pulled away from her husband to look at her. "She helped us so many times. There is no way I can repay her kindness."

The warmth in Boone's eyes was genuine when he looked back to her. "Of course she would. How can I ever thank you?"

But the tense anticipation returned. They had tarried for far too long at the fence. The Legion was certain to see them.

"We can talk about it later—"

" _Over here_!"

But there would be no later. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the area swarming with guards, all pointing at her. Her eyes went wide and she turned back to the Boones. "Go, _now_!"

Without waiting for their reaction, she pushed Carla through the gap and saw her rolling down the hill, curled and clutching their child safely to her chest, her husband with her in the darkness.

Then she tried—she _tried_. She squeezed herself through the gap in the fencing and was about to dive down the hill herself.

But her hair, her _damn hair_. A legionnaire pulled it, preventing her escape.

Her despair was indescribable.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for torture.
> 
> I know that this isn't the ending Boone was supposed to get. But that's the point of fanfiction, no? I figure, he can be happy in some universe.

They recovered the two discarded collars and the key to them after they had secured the runaway slave. Her only victory was that they hadn't caught any of the Boones. Carla had successfully escaped.

And she held onto this singular truth as if it was her only source of vitality, especially with what they did to her next.

Silus had a keen interest in slaves. Siri had told her that. Perhaps she should have taken that to heart.

They dragged her by the hair to a building, not a tent. The nearby weather station. There was no pause between recapture and punishment.

Once inside, they stripped her of her clothes, bound her hands together, and secured them on the wall just above her head, her back to the room.

She heard heavy boots pacing slowly across the metal floor.

She thought they would interrogate her to some degree. But no questions were asked. There was only the cracking of the whip—the Nine Tails.

_Crack._

And she felt it tearing at the flesh on her back. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears springing from the corners.

_Crack_.

She bit her tongue, and blood filled her mouth.

_Crack. Crack. Crack._

And she lost consciousness to a dream of broken promises.

Days of this passed.

She learned from the occasional tauntings that it was Silus gladly administering this punishment. Still no questions were asked. No one was concerned with the whereabouts of Carla. All for the better, she supposed.

Her back was defaced, her face bruised. She did not have the energy to keep herself upright. She sagged against the wall, dangling just out of reach of reprieve on the floor, the metal wire cutting deep scars around her wrists.

_Crack_.

She was not raped. Yet. Silus took more pleasure from her torture instead, and she heard his rhythmic grunts with her cries of pain. She felt nothing.

_Crack_.

Her back burned with seamless open wounds. She felt whenever fresh blood trailed down the back of her legs in blazing, curling paths.

_Crack_.

And she wished for its end, whatever it took. The Courier Reborn prayed for her own grave.

_Crack_.

Silence.

In some dead space of time, the door creaked open, light briefly fanned the room from outside before the door was closed once again. She would have braced herself for the onslaught but even the dregs of her energy had disappeared. She had nothing.

But the cracking whip did not return. Instead, something fibrous draped across her back—a blanket—and she winced in pain.

A voice was at her ear, quiet and clear. "What have you gotten yourself into?" Vulpes Inculta.

And then she sobbed, unsure why exactly, turning her face into the crook of her arm, away from him. She did not understand his presence or how it made her feel.

She felt his hand stroke her hair but there was no warmth in his touch. "After much debate with Caesar, he has finally agreed to your release. The only thing that can save you, secure your loyalty, is a marriage. Marry me, and I promise you not another man will so much as touch a hair on your head."

"Except for you," she pointed out miserably from a scratchy throat.

He said nothing, waiting for her response.

And the Courier Reborn, who had wished for her own death, decided that a marriage would be better than these endless nights with Silus and nodded.


	10. Chapter 10

Immediately, her bindings were cut, and she was carried into a tent—the tent of Vulpes Inculta. Siri came to tend to her injuries, but it was an agonizing process of healing that lasted for days. Her ravaged back was merciless. It would surely leave nasty vestiges of this event, always reminding her of this humiliating beating. She was barely aware of her surroundings.

When she was strong enough to sit up on her own, Vulpes approached her the night before their scheduled wedding.

"I have a condition," he clarified. "Perhaps I should have informed you of this earlier."

"What is it?" she asked apprehensively.

"As my wife, you shall remain faithful to me. I don't expect our marriage to be the picture of romance, but I won't tolerate infidelity. It is a very serious commitment to me, something we uphold in the Legion. This protects you from potential rapists; I expect not to be disrespected."

She blinked, already expecting no less. "Then I expect the same from you."

He gave a small laugh at that, suggesting he was more pleased than amused. "Then it is agreed that no one shall share our marriage bed."

The wedding was a short handfasting ceremony that occurred the following day. She was bathed in the river with rosemary oil and then dressed in fine, ceremonial robes. At the altar, Vulpes took her trembling fingers with his long, pale ones. He maintained her gaze with the same intensity she had always seen from him. They shared slices of barrel cactus fruit and small libations of wine, one of the rare times alcohol was allowed in the Legion.

And then she was married to Vulpes Inculta.

Her slave rags were replaced with a tunic made of red wool that reached to her knees. She wasn't a slave anymore; she was wife of the head of the Frumentarii, and he led her back to his tent for the eve of their marriage.

She was shaking terribly, and his warm, strong grip did little to help it. Her stomach churned at the thought of consummating their new union, and she uneasily sat herself on the bed, watching her new husband with nervous anticipation.

He had been watching her closely throughout the day and he continued to do so now. "You can stop worrying. I'm not going to touch you."

She wasn't sure if she believed him. "You're not?" Her voice was curt, disbelieving. 

"Not unless you desire it. We _will_ have to sleep in the same bed. It would look strange if we didn't; and the last thing you need is someone claiming to Caesar that our marriage is invalid. I hope that is suitable for you."

She spent the next several weeks sharing his bed. His mattress allowed little room away from him, so she always felt his warm body pressed against her back. She came to think of it as a comforting presence, and he always spoke to her with a respect the other legionnaires seemed incapable of. It was an odd marriage, but maybe one she could get used to. Sometimes the scars from her punishment sent flares of pain down her spine.

It was an odd routine they fell into. As Vulpes Inculta's wife, she was no longer expected to perform slave work, but she did anyways to pass the time. But her time with Siri only made her miss Carla that much more.

Then she would retire for the evening. Vulpes was usually busy and didn't go to bed until long after she did. He required nothing of her; it was easier than any marriage she had imagined.

One night, Vulpes rolled over in bed. "You should have never shared your food with the other slave girl."

She stiffened. He had never really addressed her directly in bed. She answered with her back still to him. "Her name was Carla."

" _Maria_ ," he hummed in a sigh. It was an endearing sound and she closed her eyes to absorb it. She didn't understand why he occasionally said that, as if calling her by name. The word meant nothing to her.

"Why?" she asked, keeping her eyes closed.

She suddenly felt his hand against her side. She flinched but did not shy from his touch. "Because _you're_ not eating enough." He pressed gently to feel her ribs for emphasis.

"Carla wasn't given enough. She had a baby to take care of."

Vulpes sighed, and it was a calculated sound rather than a defeated one. "She isn't here anymore. You shouldn't be this starved on any account." Then severely, almost threateningly, "You will not share your food with anyone." The command was undeniable in his voice.

She had difficulty masking her sarcasm. "If it would please you, _husband_."

She would have fought for a new escape, but her exhaustion had reached endless limits. The sentries were doubled, the fence refortified. And as she washed bloodstained clothes in the river, she wondered if Silus hadn't broken her of some of her spirit in that dark room.

And if nothing else, she was _safe_ with Vulpes. He had done a favor for her, expecting nothing in return, it would seem.

But she hated conceding to that thought. It felt like giving up on her freedom, on her life. Her existence was worth more than enslavement. 

And to what extent did Vulpes keep her safe? He was not called the most evil man in the Mojave for nothing.

Her life started on the day Doc Mitchell brought her back from the dead; anything before that was unimportant. Irrelevant. Her whole purpose had been revenge against Checked Jacket. And now, with enslavement—

But was she technically a slave now? Wife of the Head of the Frumentarii? Did the technicality really even matter? Wife of Frumentarius, slave. There was little difference. She was still a woman. Still a slave.

Where did her path lead? Freeborn set on revenge. Or reborn to serve as a docile slave. What was more _comfortable_. What was more meaningful.

Normal people, docile slaves don't get to live again. Only the heroes do.

So the question was—where was her calling, who demanded a champion?

Who needed a hero?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting note-rosemary is/was considered a stimulant/association for memory, especially in the ancient world. Appropriate, I think, for our Courier who remembers nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

She usually retired for the night first, exhausted after a day's work. She often felt Vulpes joining her in bed some time later. It was an arrangement she had gotten used to. So she noticed when, one night, he did not go to bed at the usual time.

She tossed and turned on the mattress, unable to sleep because he was not with her. It made her stomach flip with anxiety. She sat up in a panic, deciding to search for him, only to discover that he was already with her in the tent. He sat at his table on the other end, staring into the smoke curls from their brazier.

Her wool dress slipped from her shoulders as she watched him. Then she got out of bed to join him at the table. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Can't sleep?" she asked.

Something heavy weighed on his mind, and it became obvious that he would not share it with her. He shook his head to clear it of its current thoughts. "Talk to me, Maria. Tell me about yourself, your family before the Legion."

He probably searched for some sort of distraction, but this did not have his desired effect. She grew inexorably sad. "I have nothing to tell. You know that."

"Your attempted murder?"

"I don't remember anything. I was a courier for the Mojave Express. And then, I was delivering a package. I don't remember details. Just a man in a checkered jacket with a gang of Great Khans. He shot me. In the head. Left me for dead. For a platinum chip."

When she looked at him, Vulpes looked alarmed. His hand suddenly reached for her and knowingly caressed the scar at her temple from the wound. She didn't shrink back from him. His touch was tender but not in the same way Boone's was. Vulpes was practiced, efficient. Knowledgeable in an intangible way. A simple touch should not have been all of those things. She struggled to give it its proper name.

"I see you touching your head frequently," he said. "Does ever it hurt you?"

His words left her breathless. She belatedly realized that his touch was _familiar._ She nodded. "Sometimes I can feel the heat, the force, like it's happening all over again."

"How did you survive?"

"A securitron happened to be nearby. He dug me out of the grave and brought me to a doctor in Goodsprings who did his best to save me. It's hard for me to discern what part of me is the same and what is new. I hardly remember anything from before. I remember facts, like about computers and medicine. But I don't remember my family or anything else."

He continued looking at her with such alarm and concern, that it began disconcerting her. She worried he might think of her as a freak of nature. Or that other word he used a lot, _profligate_.

He didn't remove his hand from her head for a while. She closed her eyes and leaned in to his touch. He began cradling her face.

She opened her eyes. "What about you?"

He lowered his hand and offered a smirk. "What about me?"

"Vulpes isn't your real name."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I don't think many parents of the Wastes would name their child _fox_ or its Latin equivalent."

His smirk widened into a grin. "I am impressed. You are familiar with Latin. There's not much to tell about me. I was a slave in the Legion, but I quickly rose through the ranks because of my strength and skill. And do not worry. Vulpes _is_ my name. Perhaps not the one I was born with, but all the same. We are not able to choose our parents so why must we allow them to choose our name?"

Her eyelids grew heavy, and she reached for his hand. "We have thoroughly discussed our dark pasts. Come to bed now, my fox."

He gave an endearing chuckle as he followed her. "If that is your desire."

"It is," she assured him. She continued holding onto his hand even when they were in bed and she pressed it against her neck. As she drifted off to sleep, she felt him stroking the skin of her throat with his thumb.

She dreamed The Dream again.

_Far away from the Mojave. Dark, nighttime, hot and thick with humidity. Sweat drenching her clothes and skin._

_A soft kiss on her brow, sticky with heat. The whispered promise,_

I'll come back for you at Sunrise. A fox always knows where to go.

_Knees aching, crouching and tensed. Waiting anxiously. Looking east for the sun and him._

_Hours passed. Night became the gray dawn. Sunrise turned into day. Long shadows disappeared with the high noon sun._

_Still crouched, still waiting. Anxiously waiting._

_Night once more, along with the heartbreak of a violated promise._

_Realizing the lies, she went west where she died and was reborn._

_Sunrise. Fox._

Before dawn even came, Vulpes was already out of bed and readying himself to leave. This was unusual for him, and she wouldn't have even known if he didn't wake her to bid _vale_.

She was groggy and half-asleep, but panic began bubbling in her chest. "Where are you going?" she managed in her thick voice.

"Caesar commands."

She didn't need to ask anything else. He would reveal nothing further to her. "When will you be back?"

"We will not be absent for long. Expect my return tomorrow."

"Can't I go with you?" she asked.

He gave a throaty laugh. "It will be no place for a woman, not even one of your spirit."

She would have argued that, but he gently pushed her back to the bed. Her half-asleep state allowed no room for debate.

"You will be safe here, _mea Maria_ ," he insisted, kissing her brow. "I'll come back for you at Sunrise. A fox always knows where to go," was the last thing she heard before she drifted to unconsciousness.

The words didn't take shape in her head until she awoke hours later.


	12. Chapter 12

Upstaging his work at Nipton was no small feat, but Vulpes didn't really need to upstage his accomplishments at Nipton. He just needed to continue his tactic of NCR demoralization. The profligates didn't require some grandiose scheme like the lottery at Nipton. Simply overtaking a town would do the trick.

But he was Vulpes. Intricate plots were his specialty, and he enjoyed orchestrating the most manipulative situations that would lead the profligates to tear each other apart.

But he had something else in mind for Searchlight.

NCR troops went on regular patrols around the area, and Vulpes along with his Frumentarii tracked them down, engaged them in combat. Toyed with them, really. They weren't the true targets.

It served as the proper distraction. Because then the explosion happened.

It shook the ground with relentless force, spraying toxic radiation throughout the surrounding area. It took the scavenged remnants of a bomb, the NCR's own stockpile of radioactive waste, a brave Frumentarii, and the right amount of encouragement to convince said Frumentarii he was sacrificing himself for the glory of Caesar and the Legion.

Vulpes had kept his face the unreadable mask that it usually was, but he could have scoffed at the idea. Caesar was not worth suicide. The Frumentarii sacrificed was handpicked because he was dispensable, weak of mind. That's why it was so easy to convince him. The Frumentarii as such sustained very little losses in their assault on Searchlight otherwise.

The Frumentarii bomber was instantly killed with the explosion. Nearby Searchlight citizens or NCR troops were immediately killed or transformed into ghouls, and judging from the screams, Vulpes would wager that most of them were already feral.

The NCR dogs fighting them outside of Searchlight almost instantaneously turned heel and ran. Vulpes commanded his legionnaires to let them go. Someone had to be alive to spread the message.

As they met with the other decani and scouted the area, his mind went to his wife, her sleeping form that morning, her half-conscious state of panic. It touched something in him to see her concern.

She wouldn't approve of his work at Searchlight, especially if she cared so much for one slave girl. It begged the question of whether they were even compatible. She wouldn't stand for such heinous crimes.

Not that she was in any position to dispute their marriage or do anything about it. Wife of the Frumentarius was still a woman, a slave without a collar.

Despite such limitations, he knew that she was more than such a lowly position. Caesar even knew this. She was capable of great things. Life in the Legion would not be able to contain her.

What would he do when that moment happened—that clash of unstoppable forces? Death could fell any legionnaire, but it would not hold her. She alone would remain victorious.

So what would he—Vulpes Inculta—do when that time came? She knew nothing of him, and if she happened to remember, she would only be enraged at his twisted transformation. He was smart enough to keep his true thoughts about the Legion hidden from Caesar, but all the same. Vulpes Inculta was the product of Caesar's Legion. Any identity that existed before Vulpes was buried deep in the ashes of Caesar's past victories.

Vulpes was the result of a sharp-witted profligate who had been warped into the most evil man of the Mojave. That's what they called him. Guiltless, remorseless. A force on his own.

He could not hope to tame her and she could not tame him. Two unyielding powers. Vulpes saw only one ending to their cruelly forsaken journey. And that was one of the rare things he could regret.

* * *

The day came and went. She unsuccessfully kept herself distracted throughout the day, constantly watching the river for their return.

Siri noticed her anxiety. "The Frumentarius always returns."

But Siri mistakenly thought her nervousness stemmed from some misplaced concern. Her thoughts were not of Vulpes's well-being but of some secrets he was clearly hiding. She had to know.

He had recited those words so perfectly. There was no doubt in her mind that the voice from her dream belonged to him, perhaps some past, long-forgotten version of him, but him all the same.

So did that mean—Vulpes Inculta was some past friend or lover of hers that she had no memory of? It would explain his inexplicable intrigue and interest towards her but nothing else of his intensity or the details surrounding her shrouded past.

In her anticipation, she did not sleep. She sat awake and alone on their bed until the watery light of dawn peered over the horizon. Then she left the tent.

She saw in the distance the Cursor Lucullus delivering quite a few men by raft. She knew her husband was among them. Quietly, discreetly, she left for the dock.

Perhaps he expected some warm greeting or reunion with his wife, especially given their particularly intimate previous conversation. But she reserved none of that sweetness for him. Her expression was hard, face set into a frown jilted with suspicion. As the raft neared, she heard other legionnaires sneer behind Vulpes's back at the beating he was sure to receive from his wife.

Vulpes needed only to spare them one glance to silence them all completely.

When the Frumentarii disembarked, Vulpes spared no time and went to his rather cross wife. His own eyes were hard with the challenge brewing in hers. "You did not need to wait for me; I would have joined you in our tent shortly."

"Who are you?" she demanded.

His eyes glinted like diamonds, but it was obvious he did not understand her intent. "I am Vulpes Inculta, your lord husband and Frumentarius to the great Caesar, who is currently expecting me."

She would have been enraged beyond description if he had brushed her off and abandoned her then, deciding upon Caesar over her, but despite his claims to superior responsibilities, he remained even as the other Frumentarii walked past him. But though this touched her, though she was not enraged, she was still angry, and the anger tightened her throat.

"Before Caesar's Legion," she managed with some difficulty. "Do you know who I am?"

Comprehension dawned upon his features, and she could tell there was some recognition there. He looked almost sympathetic. Almost.

He leaned towards her, embracing, one arm around her waist, the other on the back of her neck. His mouth was at her ear, whispering urgently. "I promise, little lamb, we can have this conversation later, in an hour even, but right now I must visit Caesar."

It was enough to subdue her angry shaking, probably his technique to calm his confrontational wife, to save face and embarrassment from witnessing legionnaires. The tenderness once again calculated.

But it was enough. She relaxed in his hold but retorted, "I am _not_ some little lamb."

He gave a laugh at that, releasing her. "You are correct. You are my Phoenix. You are my queen."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is sex in this chapter.

After Vulpes had left her for Caesar, she returned to their tent, impatiently waiting on the bed. But her sleepless night bested her, and she dreamed.

It was not the recurring dream of the Humid Cave. It was Silus with the whip giving chase. She heard his voice in her head.

 _I would never let you talk to me that way if you were my wife_.

She started at a touch on her shoulder, but when her eyes flew open, it was Vulpes outlined in late morning sunlight. Her stiff neck told her that Dream Slius must have chased her for hours.

"I apologize for my tardiness. Lord Caesar required my presence for longer than expected."

But as she blearily blinked at him looming over her, she did not feel the agitation he seemed to have expected. Instead, she felt something entirely different, some primal hunger gnawing in strange intimate places.

Despite the heat of the Mojave Desert, the air in the tent felt crisp, and it feverishly flushed her cheeks and legs with fiery heat. She suddenly craved for his touch, remembering how he had embraced her, how he stroked her neck two nights ago.

Vulpes, noticing some foreign change in his usually combative wife, elected to remain silent, watching her with careful eyes. She remembered his promise on their wedding night with clarity.

 _I won't touch you, not unless you desire it_.

And she definitely desired _something._

Trembling with anticipation and insecurity, she gripped the back of his neck and pulled herself up to meet his lips.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

Without missing a beat or breaking from her hungry kiss, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. His other hand slowly trailed down her leg in slow, tingling patterns. His simple, efficient caresses were enough drive her mad.

She removed his armor with impatient efficiency, throwing it to the floor in haste. He simply watched her, his diamonds eyes ablaze.

When she finished, he placed his mouth over the sensitive spot on her neck. Still tracing circles on her hips, he merely skimmed his lips over the skin of her throat. When she began unwittingly rocking her hips back and forth, he suckled just a bit hard, causing her to jerk in pleasure.

He pushed her down flat on the mattress, and his mouth travelled from her neck, slowly, agonizing to her collarbone. He slipped the wool tunic off of her, and he caressed her breasts with that same calculated tenderness she had experienced from him.

His tongue then drew a line down to her navel, gripping her hips with both of his hands. She gave involuntary jerk of her pelvis as he inched further down. She felt his hot breath blowing across her exposed skin when he chuckled at her impatience.

"My queen," he merely breathed, relishing the word with fervent reverence.

Then he plunged at the delta of her legs, providing the fiery heat that fueled her passion until she shuddered at its climax.

He paused at the appropriate time, rising to look at her sweating and shaking figure. Between her vibrations, she saw his own eyes aflame for lust.

For the moment, he reclined next to her, and she buried her face against his neck, every thought or concern obliterated from that moment. There was no past full if death, no uncertain future of servitude. There was just the now.

He rose a second time, but she pushed him to the bottom and mounted.

She chose the rhythm, slow and rocking at first, then rapid and pumping, until, finally, he cried out a name.

" _Mary_!"

It wasn't the _Maria_ she had heard from him before, and she didn't question it. It suited the moment, and her, and she collapsed back onto the mattress in a tangle of blankets and his pale limbs.

Everything settled in their aftermath, silent and waiting.

Vulpes rose from the bed and began to slowly, methodically dress himself. She watched him, a new tense anxiety knotting her stomach. Now awake and fully aware, she was unsure of what to make of what had just happened.

It was undeniably _nice_ , if she dared to call it that. She admittedly enjoyed it.

But she might regret in that moment the impulsiveness of her decision. She still had questions, and she demanded answers.

But before she could voice her thoughts, Vulpes was first to speak. "Is that why you were so eager to speak to me?" His voice held no shaky aftermath of their recent intercourse. It remained smooth, retaining its calculating timbre. While the past few minutes had been of physically bliss, Vulpes was unchanged. Always calculating. It clenched something in her chest to know he would rarely impart his personal thoughts. Physical closeness was not closeness otherwise.

"You said something to me when you left yesterday," she said.

He stopped his movements, watching her. "I bid _vale_ to you before the Frumentarii left the Fort."

"There was something else, a bit more specific."

He crossed his arms, and she noticed the tight skin of his forearm. "I'm afraid you'll have to refresh my memory."

She swung her legs over the bed and stepped closer to Vulpes, barely aware of her still-naked state. " _I'll come back for you at Sunrise. A fox always knows where to go_."

His expression was guarded. "I fail to understand your point. Did I not return at dawn? Did you yourself not realize the translation of _vulpes_? It is not difficult to decipher my meaning."

Her frustration with his obviously cryptic manner obliterated any memory of pleasure of from minutes before. She tried a different approach. "Why do you call me Maria—or _Mary_ ," she sneered.

He was unphased. " _Maria_ is the Latinized form of Mary, because of its declension compatibility."

"But why Mary?"

He was quiet for a long time, his diamond eyes deliberating choosing whether or not to divulge whatever he knew.

"Do you like the name?" he asked at length.

But she was having none of that caution. "Do you know who I am?" she asked, face flushing as she—quite literally—bared everything before him, waiting with bated breath for the truth.

And this is what he gave her, "When I first beheld you, I had almost believed I had recognized you. Though, it has become increasingly apparent that we do not know each other."

Calculated.

He continued, "I am not inclined to call you Courier, and it is my belief that Mary suits, quiet of a New Age, as the queen of Roman Christianization. If you do not like it, I will cease to use it."

But she put no argument against the moniker, though still harboring a suspicion that he was not very forthcoming with her.


	14. Chapter 14

Days passed since their intimacy and their subsequently immediate rift born of Vupes's secrecy. They continued their routines, reuniting at nighttime for sleep. They shared very few words. Vulpes out of some self-appointed mystery, and she out of stung pride. He was not superior to her. She was not undeserving of the truth.

He would try to bridge this new gap by reaching for her in the dead space of night. When her body tensed at his touch, he would rightfully withdraw and leave her be.

Whenever the need arose for her to speak with her husband, her words were always short, terse, and bitter. She didn't think she would ever forgive him for being so clandestine. And as she heard the echoes of Legion reports of the Mojave, her resolve only hardened further against the red clad men surrounding her, her husband included.

And then the miraculous, the forbidden, the terrifying happened. Lord Caesar summoned her.

Two Praetorian guards came to retrieve her, much like they had for her arena fight. Although their grip was hard and her feet dragged, they did not lead her to the arena. Just as their gruff voices promised, they took her to Caesar's tent.

She saw her _Lord Husband_ standing by Caesar's right at the far end. Once the Praetorian guards shoved her through the tent flap, she needed no further prompting to approach Caesar.

She passed the first tent, the entryway. And Caesar's tent came into full view, and she noticed a prisoner bound and kneeling in the dust to Caesar's left, her right.

And then her whole body tensed and she froze where she stood.

The coy smirk, the self-important gaze were unmistakable. Checkered Jacket. _Benny_ , the man who shot her. The man who killed her.

Caesar seemed to anticipate some reaction from her. He said nothing and watched her carefully, waiting for her response.

She felt her muscles clench, and her body strained against the instinct to become violent. And Benny, sensing the threat before him, mustered his lopsided grin and tried appeasing to her on some charismatic level.

"Hey- _hey_ , baby. Sugar doll. You're alive—"

Caesar silenced the Head Chairman with a simple command. She looked back to Caesar and did not sink into the graceful bow that would be expected of her.

"You summoned me?"

"I'm assuming you recognize this man," Caesar began simply.

She nodded once. "He was the man that killed me in Goodsprings."

"He was caught sneaking around the camp last night. Now, I wondered why any _profligate_ would even want to come to a Legion camp, but then _this_ was discovered on him." At this, Caesar held up a small object that reflected even in the dim light of the tent, the number **_38_ ** etched into its face.

The Platinum Chip.

She had gathered from her personal investigation that the Platinum Chip was what she had been delivering when Benny had captured her. It was the object she had been killed for. She knew nothing of its significance other than it was pretty damn significant.

Caesar continued. "You might notice the symbol on this chip. It's the same symbol on a door hidden in the weather station. It is the symbol of the Lucky 38. It is the symbol of Mr. House."

Mr. House was an enigmatic individual of godly proportions. It was common knowledge that he owned New Vegas, patrolled by his army of Securitrons. From various discarded rumors, she had gathered that he was also a figure of prewar importance, perhaps discovering some blasphemous secret of longevity or immortality to save himself from the exponential radiation when the bombs first dropped. Enigmatic indeed.

"The door beneath the weather station is locked despite any force I might throw against it. I suspect that this chip is the key to opening that door and the key to whatever Mr. House has hidden in his bunker. What I want you to do, _Courier_ , is to make one last delivery."

"Which means?" she asked curtly, tiring of Caesar's tendency for grandiose language.

"Take the chip to its intended destination. Go to the bunker and destroy whatever Mr. House has hidden there."

It was a simple command, devoid of the specifics of what she might find or encounter in Mr. House's bunker. Devoid of why he wanted _her_ to do this task. "Why me?" she asked.

Caesar smirked. "Because I don't know what's under there. You were already chosen for this journey by some power beyond me, and I am not one to question the preordained."

"Effectively, you're saying that I can handle a potential threat better than any of your legionnaires."

Caesar chuckled at that. "I'm saying that you're more dispensable than my legionnaires." He paused. "Do this, and I will reward you."

"With my freedom?" she asked quickly.

"You are married to Vulpes. You are already free." Caesar laughed at his own words. She might have too if she was in better humor. "Your reward is that you get to choose Benny's fate."

At this, she turned to look at the unfortunate soul who had had the idiocy to kill her. She heard none of Benny's frantic pleas for mercy as Caesar listed off the possibilities before her.

" _Simple execution, arena match, crucifixion_."

She did not take long to consider Caesar's words. "Am I to go unarmed?"

She was not. Vulpes escorted her to the weather station, keeping his gaze trained away from her and his eyes distant. Her tunic was replaced by leather armor, the very same, she noted, she had been captured in. She was handed a machete and her own personal hunting revolver. She was surprised they even saved it. Vulpes said nothing outside the brief instructions he had for her.

He opened the door to the weather station, and she froze before the threshold. She didn't know how long she had been a slave in the Legion. She didn't know how many had days had passed since her wedding, her salvation as a token or gift from Vulpes. It might have been weeks.

But the scars of Silus's whims felt fresh as she peered into the darkness of the building. The sounds of the scraping whip near to her ears. She easily imagined the ghostly visage of Silus next to her.

Vulpes broke her reverie. "Maria?"

It encouraged her enough to brave the darkness of the building, of her recent past.

The door Caesar spoke of was revealed after Vulpes made a few selections at the nearby control panel, the floor partly sliding away to reveal the bowels of the structure. She saw the door with the  _Lucky 38_ symbol emblazoned proudly on its surface. She would pass through those doors alone. She hovered before them a moment.

Vulpes once again broke the silence. "There is a part of Caesar that hopes you won't return," he admitted at length. "You're far too unpredictable for him."

She didn't meet his gaze, squaring her shoulders. "What does Caesar think is down there?"

"Something powerful. Something dangerous."

Then something occurred to her. Benny hadn't been sneaking around the Legion camp for no reason. If someone as spineless as Benny was brave enough to snoop around Caesar, then there must have been something important down there. Something more than dangerous. Something more than powerful. It was something that could be used. But what? A weapon?

"I do not share Caesar's hopes," Vulpes continued when she said had nothing. "I do hope that you will return to me."

She finally, _finally_ looked back to him. Her gaze was piercing. "Then come with me down to the bunker. Show that you mean what you say. Make sure that I actually do get back." Vulpes was smart. He would have deduced already what was down there. Whether or not he actually cared for her would be proven in his answer.

His eyes glinted, his head turned slightly. Even though he appeared torn, she already saw his answer before he said anything. His smirk was rueful. "Caesar commands you go alone."

She turned away, sighing ruefully, wistfully. "Caesar commands," she repeated before descending to the depths of Fortification Hill.


	15. Chapter 15

Her suspicions were proven correct, but what she found was not a weapon. Rather, it was an _army_.

And she also found Mr. House, speaking to her through a flickering computer screen. As it turned out, he was the one who had hired her to deliver the Platinum Chip. And as he explained the mechanics of his plan and her part in it, she slowly began to understand everything, at least her role in the upcoming events in the Mojave. Her purpose for being reborn.

Mr. House and his whole new fleet of upgraded Securitrons. A powerful message indeed.

But all of these things hung at her mercy. Mr. House's army was useless without her help. Caesar's command pointless without her obedience to a cause she was never loyal to.

She stood at the fabric of this crossroads, deciding her path. Mr. House offered her wealth, power. All she really wanted was freedom.

And Caesar offered her...

Perhaps if Vulpes had went with her to this humming and whirring bunker, she would have offered the Legion perspective a chance. Perhaps Vulpes would have argued and defended, even explained his devotion to a madman with a cause.

Perhaps. But Vulpes had abstained.

And as she made her choice, she wondered if she even really had a choice. Was Caesar right? Was everything preordained and she merely tread the path already paved for her?

Unpredictable, Vulpes had called her.

So just as Vulpes had already settled on his choice before she even descended the depths of Fortification Hill, her choice was already decided Before the Bullet. Before the Platinum Chip.

She emerged from the bowels of the earth, from the dark room with a renewed vigor. With a renewed purpose. She was reborn. She had been granted new life by some cosmic spectrum of the universe. No one would spoil her soul and spirit. Not Silus. Not Caesar or the Legion. Not the Boones or Siri. Not Checkered Jacket.

Not even her _Lord Husband_. Vulpes Inculta.

* * *

Fortification Hill shook with an immense force. Vulpes gripped the metal frame of the weather station for support until the rumbling subsided and everything was still once more.

And then he waited, watching the bunker doors and acutely aware of the tense clenching in his stomach. Vulpes could admit to himself that he was anxious.

And then, the doors opened, and she calmly stepped through. He noticed her unscathed armor and her holstered revolver. The tension in his abdomen relaxed, but her face still made him concerned. Her eyes were distant, considering the complexity of some irrelevant problem.

"Did you encounter any problems?" Vulpes asked her carefully.

She shifted her gaze to him. "None."

"What did you discover?" he pressed.

"Mr. House possessed an army of Securitron robots," she answered. He was surprised by her frankness, and it only stirred more suspicion in his mind.

He stopped her before they left the weather station. "You will have to turn in your weapon before you leave this room."

She glanced at her hunting revolver for a moment. Then she looked to the far wall and pointed to a dangling wire. "That is where Silus had me tied." Her voice did not shake, but she also refused to look at him here. "That is where he beat me, whipped me. I'm sure I still have the scars if you would like to see."

Before Vulpes even had a chance to respond, she began to peel away the leather armor, revealing her pale nakedness underneath. The long, brown scars were visible even in the dimness. Vulpes placed a careful hand on wrist to stop her. " _Maria_ , what are you doing?"

She did not shy from his gaze now. Her eyes were wild. "I assume that since I have to turn over my weapon I will also need to change out of this _profligate_ clothing. I'm sure that Caesar and every man, every Silus, every legionnaire would prefer to see me this way too. Since I am nothing but a profligate whore, little better than bighorn, cattle, _property_ , what have you. The Legion will be pleased to see evidence of my punishment. They will be pleased to take me when they desire it." She continued ripping the leather away.

He saw tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. He didn't know what had happened in the bunker or what caused this sudden outburst. "I told you. For as long as you are my wife, no one will touch you. Not a hair on your head."

Her head shot up as she challenged that. "You _can't_ promise me that, Vulpes. You are little better than I, the pawn and property of Caesar's demands."

He gripped her hard then, pulling her tightly against him, and held her for a minute as she breathed deeply against his neck and relaxed from whatever was upsetting her. Then spoke in her ear, low and rough and severe. "I don't give a _damn_ what Caesar commands. You will not be touched by _anyone_ , for as long as I draw breath. Is that clear?"

She pulled back to look him in the face. The planes of her face were flushed but she nodded, dressing herself once more. "I made a choice in that bunker, Vulpes," she informed him. "Prove to me that I chose right."

She handed her hunting revolver over without complaint and left to hear Caesar sing her victorious praises. Vulpes took a moment to check over the handgun and realized with some concern that it hadn't even been fired.


	16. Chapter 16

She chose an arena match for Benny's fate, though she had been dangerously close to deciding upon a crucifixion. Some of her spirit, that previous stalwart goodness remained within her. The Legion hadn't entirely consumed her soul. And so she dispatched Checkered Jacket with ruthless efficiency. Her machete blade found itself embedded in his chest. He managed to choke out some sputtering words of, " _Find Yes Man. In The Tops,"_ before she shoved the blade further and he fell lifelessly to the ground.

His signature checkered coat was soaked in his blood and hung outside the Inculta tent as a testament to her accomplishments. While she was not allowed to keep weapons, Vulpes kept the firearm that belonged to Benny. A 9mm pistol with elaborate markings named _Maria_. When Vulpes showed it to her, she was able to identify it as the weapon that killed her. She might have chuckled at the irony of its name.

But her mood after surfacing from the bunker remained in ill humor. Something deep and unsettling soured within her. She felt cold, distant. Even from her lord husband. And he could not pry its reasoning from her, no matter how hard he tried, not matter how much he calculated. Their nights were once more filled with stiff silence. She wondered if her efforts in the bunker even mattered.

And so it was, she was once again summoned before Caesar.

"I want you to kill Mr. House."

And once again, no specifics were offered. No insight into the mechanics of the Lucky 38. She was just once more reunited with her leather armor and her hunting revolver.

And even, _Maria_. A gift from Vulpes. He was worried about her, though he did not say it. She saw his concern in the lingering gazes he fixed upon her. She did not have the heart to quell his fears.

The night before she was set to leave Fortification Hill, there was a change in plan. Only a slight change. _Someone_ managed to remind Caesar that she was not fully trustworthy. As such, Vulpes would accompany her as far as the strip. She was assured that he would watch her movements, make sure she would not wander, not become distracted. Her glimpse of freedom was instantly shattered.

"Why would Caesar ask me to do this?" she wondered.

Vulpes didn't look at her when he answered. "His opinion of you hasn't much changed. He still believes you unpredictable, but he does recognize your power. He thinks it a shame for it to go to waste, and so he has you in charge of the most important task before we attack Hoover Dam."

Before they attacked Hoover Dam. It was an inevitable event. There was no question why the Legion began mobilizing in the Mojave. But she was still shocked to hear of Vulpes revealing some measure of their sensitive plans and military intentions.

"And he trusts me to do that?"

At this, Vulpes looked at her. "He doesn't _trust_ you. I don't know if _I_ trust you to be loyal to our cause. That's why I'm coming with you."

But there was something in his words that alerted her of an astounding truth. She turned to him. " _You_ told Caesar that I wasn't trustworthy."

He at least looked her in the eye when he admitted his shame. "Caesar asked me of my opinion, and I decided to be forthright."

"And all this time, I had suspected that it was Silus who didn't trust me," she muttered darkly.

"Don't worry. He doesn't. However, I thought you might find it preferable to have me as your escort instead of Silus."

She might have, if that was indeed the context, but she had no way of guaranteeing that, of believing it.

They left the next morning, she in her leather armor and Vulpes in his Frumentarii garb. A gambler's suit and hat. They made a funny sight.

"What's our story?" she asked as the Cursor Lucullus pushed them down the river.

He managed half a smile. "What a sight we make." He glanced at her. "You look the part of a mercenary. The armed escort of some rich gambler with his sights on New Vegas."

"Have you ever been to New Vegas before?" she asked.

"I have been to New Vegas many times. This is not my first trip and certainly not my first in disguise."

Something about that annoyed her but she shouldn't have expected anything else. "What's the plan when we get there?" she asked, folding her arms.

"You'll go to the Lucky 38 and carry out your mission. I won't be able to go with you. The Lucky 38 doesn't accept visitors. I'll be in one of the other casinos waiting for you."

"How am I supposed to get inside?" she asked, starting to feel panic rising in her chest. She tried hiding it from Vulpes.

"You'll figure something out."

"You're not going to help me?" she asked, her voice rising. She noticed Lucullus glaring at her with indignation.

Vulpes took his time in answering. "I believe you will find it easy to enter the Lucky 38 once we arrive. I won't be as welcome."

"What does that mean?" she demanded.

But he refused to elaborate.

They made their way north after Cottonwood Cove. Their biggest threats were the occasional radscorpion scuttling across the road. Instead of going through Novac, they circumvented the town. She gazed at the weathering T-Rex statue in the distance with a welling sense of longing. She barely saw the muzzle of a rifle, but perhaps she imagined it. She wondered if Boone and Carla had returned there with Baby Craig. No matter how hard she strained her ears, she didn't hear the cries of an infant. Which didn't mean much. They were too far away to hear anything.

After Novac was the scrapyard. Then Helios One. Vulpes chuckled at its sight. "The Brotherhood of Steel used to control Helios. Then the NCR drove them away. The Legion will have our turn."

The malevolence in that chuckle, in his words, showed a dark side to his calculating mask. She watched him carefully, beginning to understand why Vulpes Inculta was called the Most Evil Man in the Mojave.

They passed through Trading Post 188, through fields of the NCR sharecroppers, through Freeside and the establishments there. She lingered upon seeing an ancient wall constructed of gray stone. Vulpes identified it as the Old Mormon Fort, the oldest building in the Mojave, ancient by prewar standards. It was where the Followers of the Apocalypse resided.

"Who?"

Vulpes paused, looking away. "Tell no one what I'm about to tell you."

She waited anxiously for what he had to say.

"Caesar, before he formed the Legion, came from the Followers of the Apocalypse. But that was a long time ago. Caesar saw their weakness. He took their knowledge and his own power and made the Legion."

"So what do they do?"

"They're doctors and scientists, mostly. They treat and feed every debased profligate that comes to their doorstep. They've never been strong enough to sustain themselves. They likewise depend on the generosity of others. This is why they won't survive. They will fall with Hoover Dam."

She turned away then, clenching her jaw. She did not have the desire to argue with Vulpes in that moment, but she did not think the Followers deserved such a fate.

Or perhaps they did for creating Caesar in the first place.

They made it to the North Gate of New Vegas, where the securitron there demanded to see their passports or go through a credit check. She looked the robot up and down, noting its weapons systems, and nervously turned to Vulpes for help.

"Vulpes?"

He was already holding two passports for the securitron to process, and a strange new, debonair smile graced his features. "Please, darling. It's Mr. Fox."

Then they entered New Vegas.


	17. Chapter 17

They first went to the Vault 21 hotel to rent their rooms for their stay from Sarah, an obviously socially anxious person with an otherwise bubbly personality. She couldn't help but to pity the hotel owner.

But her pity was short-lived when Vulpes— _Mr. Fox_ —insisted that they stay in separate rooms. She was too stunned to argue. Her first reaction was anger that he would so easily dismiss and abandon her, even under the guise of their fake identities.

But after a moment's consideration, she realized that she would enjoy even a single night alone of pretend freedom.

After their rooms were secured, she caught Sarah's meek gaze linger on _her_ for a judicious moment before she disappeared into the vault's depths.

Alone, Vulpes momentarily dropped his Mr. Fox debonair. His instructions were curt. "Go to the 38. Do some reconnaissance, if need be. We can stay on the Strip as long as you require, within reason. Just get the job done."

"What about you?"

"I've got my own mission with the Omertas at Gomorrah. When you're finished with your job for today, find me at Gomorroah. Don't talk to me, just make sure I can see you and return here."

"Why can't I speak to you?"

"It would be best for both of our missions if we weren't seen with each other."

"But we've already walked into New Vegas together," she pointed out.

"Just because I have hired you for protection does not mean we would share the same political interests."

His expression cleared, forming a coy smirk, and she realized Sarah had returned to the room. Then Vulpes tipped his hat and swept out of the hotel with a proud march. She watched him leave, unable to help the disgusted scowl that she now targeted at his back.

"How did you meet Mr. Fox?" Sarah asked conversationally.

She struggled to recall their fabricated story. "He hired me in Novac."

"You don't know him otherwise?"

She shook her head.

Sarah avoided her gaze, focusing on a spot on her counter. "He has quite the reputation around here."

She perked up, finding this bit of information interesting. She hadn't imagined Vulpes frequenting New Vegas undercover. "What sort of reputation?

"A charmer. Womanizer. A woman who lives here—Martina Groesbeck—often brings him back here at night. He won't leave until morning at least."

This stunned her. Her chest tightened with a sense of insecurity, jealousy as she recalled their marriage vows, promises of fidelity they made to each other the night before the wedding. "When was the last time he was here?" Her head swam as she thought of all the times he had left Fortification Hill.

"Probably a week, no more than two weeks ago."

She felt very sick, and her charged purpose for being there suddenly held no meaning. Though she had been angry with Vulpes as of late, she didn't want to imagine him with another woman.

"Are you all right?" Sarah asked, sounding quite alarmed when she had said nothing and her gaze became unfocused.

She blinked, realizing she was tightly gripping the edge of the counter. She composed herself with some difficulty. "I'm fine." She swallowed. "Thank you for your frankness, Sarah. I'll be back later."

Sarah offered a brief wave before returning her attention to her computer terminal.

Her walk to the Lucky 38 passed without her awareness. Her feet moved as if of their own accord, passing through gates and by drunken patrons and smoking gamblers, until finally, she stood before the grand neon-illuminated stairs leading to the front entrance of the Lucky 38.

She had already heard from various people, common knowledge, and a light warning from Vulpes that no one had ever entered the personal casino of Mr. House, save for the patrolling securitrons of New Vegas. She couldn't begin to imagine how she was going to break in.

Then an eerily familiar voice interrupted her thoughts. "Well, howdy partner. Fancy meeting you here."

She turned at the metallic, echo-y voice with the prerecorded drawling dialect, and she felt an indescribable wave of relief at the familiarity, a token of her life before Legion enslavement. It had been ages since she had seen Victor the securitron, her savior. "What are you doing here, Victor?"

"Had an itching to see the Strip. It's been a while since I've been here." She heard some of his circuit boards whizzing, noticing the metal sheets of Victor's body casing had started to rust at the edges.

"Boss man is waiting inside." He gestured with his arms towards the Lucky 38 behind him. "He's real anxious to speak to you."

"Mr. House?" She was stunned. A personal invitation into the Lucky 38 by Mr. House was a stroke of luck she had never even anticipated.

Then she became suspicious. "Why does he want to see me?" The last time she had spoken to him was at the bunker under Fortification Hill. His screen had clicked off with a message of _Connection Lost…_ He had been angry when she had told him of the task Caesar had charged her with.

"Don't rightly know," Victor admitted. Then his voice developed a darker tone, an ominous quality. "I wouldn't keep him waiting for long."

She took a deep breath, facing the looming structure of the casino tower. The steps she took toward the doors felt significant, preordained, as if she was meant to take this path all her life, and that the decision placed before her in the penthouse would affect the very fabric of the Mojave Wasteland.

Hours later, she emerged from the building and into the blinking sun. Her work on the Strip wasn't finished yet.


	18. Chapter 18

After the Lucky 38, she visited the Tops casino of the Chairmen, a faction of Benny's own. With a key she had looted from his body, she was able to ride the elevator to Benny's floor. Avoiding the guards was child's play, and picking the lock to Benny's suite was even easier.

At first, she found nothing of particular interest in the apartment. Judging from his collection of magazines, it was clear he had lewd taste.

But beyond the bedroom, there was a door and a passage. Beyond it was a secret room carved out of the building's architecture. It was manned by a rogue securitron named Yes Man.

Yes Man had been reprogrammed and so he didn't operate like the other securitrons on the Strip. As indicated by his name, his sole purpose was to freely give answers, information, anything he was capable of giving to anyone who asked. She was surprised to learn Benny had actually reprogrammed his operating system, but then again, there was no failsafe to ensure Yes Man's loyalty to a single person.

And so, Yes Man freely gave her some of the answers she had been looking for, chiefly why she had been shot and what was the Platinum Chip.

And she discovered Benny had had his own plan. He had turned on Mr. House to try to stake out New Vegas for himself. Yes Man's advice was much like Caesar's plan. Kill Mr. House, befriend the other tribes, or destroy the ones that were your enemies. The difference—take New Vegas for herself.

The tools were there, unguarded, for her. All she needed to do was decide.

And she left the Tops with more puzzling questions than answers.

But she was accosted by a member of the NCR who herded her to the embassy on the Strip. She sat and listened to the plan and proposal of the New California Republic. She agreed to nothing yet and left the embassy, quickly realizing one thing.

The Mojave was going to be a war zone. The electricity that charged the very air with its hostile tension was palpable to her. She didn't understand how the unwitting patrons milling about the Strip didn't seem to notice.

Legion. NCR. Mr. House. Yes Man. Hoover Dam was the target. New Vegas was the trophy.

And she was the deciding factor, the catalyst.

By then, the sun had began setting, and so she slowly made her way to Gomorrah. The Omerta thug did his shakedown for weapons, eager to cop a feel of the sensitive curves of her body. She glared but said nothing, deciding against making a scene.

The first chamber was the main casino floor with burning firepits and the silhouette of nude women marking nearly every surface. The cigarette smoke made the air heavy and stagnant. It made her eyes water as she struggled to breathe.

Beyond the casino floor was a hall leading to a darker entertainment room with a stage and dining tables. Though this room wasn't as popular, there was something about the air that made her skin crawl. The Tops and the Lucky 38 hadn't pulsed with such a thick desire for sex. She almost found herself missing the clean air of Fortification Hill, free of drugs and such vices.

She almost made the decision to leave when she finally caught sight of Vulpes at a corner table with another woman.

It was her previous anxiety and insecurity realized.

He held this woman tenderly, his thumb caressing the side of her waist. She gave tickling laughs at whatever he whispered and nipped at her ear. Neither of them saw her, so she continued watching even when his hands explored beneath the folds of her dress. No one chastised them for their behavior; it mimicked the nude dancer on stage and the hired escorts that supplied companionship at other tables.

She was the only one out of place, and she was quickly questioned by an Omerta. "Can I help you with anything?"

She faltered, stuttering. "No, I was just looking—"

He gave a greasy smile that made the fine hairs on her neck rise. "See anything you like?" Undeniably an offer. She felt his hand testing the willingness of her hip.

She almost decided to consent to his brave touch, merely out of spite for Vulpes. But then she decided she could spite her husband with a better choice than the seedy man before her. "Who's the couple in the far corner?" she asked instead.

The Omerta paused to turn. "That's Mr. Fox and Martina Groesbeck. Frequent customers of Gomorrah." He paused. "They meet up with each other so often, we like to make up a love story of them."

She felt quite sick again, and her chest tightened painfully. She thanked the Omerta for the information and left Gomorrah without Vulpes seeing her.

Her rage made tears spring to her eyes, and she stormed back to the Vault 21 hotel with the world around her becoming blurry. Vulpes's actions might have been enough for her to betray the Legion, to be annihilated with the other powers of the Mojave that had offered themselves up for her.

But she had to be careful. She had to decide.

She paused outside the hotel door, breathing heavily, unsuccessfully composing herself. The tears leaked from her eyes of their own accord anyway.

She had hoped Sarah wouldn't be at the counter, but she was. The receptionist noticed her tears and rushed to her comfort.

She didn't want to accept the receptionist's embrace, but she did. And it felt nice. Sarah rocked her back and forth, not asking questions, not needing to. She felt herself grateful for Sarah.

When her tears had quieted, Sarah began speaking to her in soothing tones, as if knowing the source of her distress.

"You are better than him," she soothed. "You deserve better."

"You were right," her voice cracked. "About Martina Groesbeck."

Sarah knew that it was better not to talk about the other woman. She stroked her hair instead.

Then with her tears dried, she felt warmth emanating from Sarah's arms. It quickened something within her, and she decided that that felt nice too.

Sarah pulled back to look at her. They were a huddled heap on the floor behind her counter. "I can show you your room," she offered quietly. "It's right next to mine."

She hesitated, looking at Sarah's flushed face, and considered her offer. Sarah was soft where Vulpes was hard, and she suddenly found herself longing for that softness.

She agreed, and they went straight to Sarah's room.


	19. Chapter 19

She relished in the comfort and warmth of Sarah's arms and bed. It was a completely new experience for her, one that she found she liked, as evinced by the leather armor discarded on the floor.

For once, everything felt perfect in that blissful night. No worries of enslavement, of plaguing past memories she had no recollection of.

But in the small hours before dawn, she was ripped from that moment of bliss. She had heard Sarah get up to go to the bathroom. Once the bathroom door closed with a soft _hiss_ of the pressurized valves, she was ripped from the bed, an iron grip on her arm.

She struggled in the darkness, wildly wondering how she had not heard another person in the room. Before she could scream, they clamped a hand firmly over her mouth. All of her vocalizations were muffled as she was dragged out of the room.

Her abductor finally stopped in another hotel room, the one next door, and threw her to the ground in order to shut the door. By the time she had picked herself up from the floor, her assailant grabbed her again, throwing her against the wall and pinning her there.

"What do you think you're doing?" he grunted through her struggling.

It was Vulpes. She could barely see the outline of his face through the darkness. And he was angry. Beyond angry. He was enraged.

"Get your hands off of me," she barked through clenched teeth.

" _What. Are. You. Doing_ ," he repeated in his fury, sounding strangely muted. "I have half a mind to punish you. I should bring your little girl in here and beat her to an inch of her life. And then I would take you for myself, willing or no, to make up for the wrong you've done me tonight." She squirmed, and he only tightened his grip. "Did you so easily forget what I told you the night before our wedding?"

"Did you?" she demanded, throwing it back in his face.

" _What_ are you talking about?" He continued as if he had committed no wrong. She felt bruises forming on her wrists and upper arms.

"Don't play the fool, Vulpes," she hissed. "I know about Martina Groesbeck."

That seemed to surprise him. He stopped pushing against her. "Martina Groesbeck is irrelevant."

She shoved against him, eliciting nothing of a response since he was much stronger than she was. "Don't you _dare_ lie to me, Vulpes. I saw the two of you at Gomorrah. I've heard the talk of Mr. Fox and Martina Goresbeck."

"You should not be so willing to listen to such slanderous rumors about me."

" _Rumors_?" she spat. "I am not blind. I know what I saw. So much for all of your talk of fidelity. God knows how many times you've come here for her. So much for all of your talk of the debased hungers of the degenerates, the carnal sins of the profligates. You, Vulpes Inculta, are no better than the rest of them."

He had been watching her carefully, much calmer now, allowing her to finish her anguished rant, oblivious or indifferent to her pain. "It is not what you think. Martina and I have been involved in a business contract of sorts, long before you even came to the Legion. She feeds me inside information of the Strip families and the NCR."

"In exchange for what? Your body? How are you any better than the prostitutes you executed at Nipton?"

He went to push some hair behind her ear, his other grip still taut around her arm. Much calmer now indeed. "It's a bit more intricate than that, my queen."

"I am _not_ your queen," she said in a low voice.

He ignored her. "Martina isn't aware of the exchange. As Frumentarius, I am an agent of stealth and disguise. I am able to separate myself from the profligates once the disguise has run its course. The man who engages in intercourse with Martina is not Vulpes Inculta or Vulpes Inculta's desires. Vulpes still remains faithful to you alone, while the sins of Mr. Fox are a necessary evil."

She was shaking. His reasons did not console her anguish. "You cannot deny that Mr. Fox and Vulpes Inculta are of the same body. You cannot deny that my _lord husband_ ," she mocked the title, "has secretly bedded another woman without my knowledge."

" _Maria_ —" he tried crooning.

"You have betrayed me," she swore to him in a dangerously low voice."

"And your romp with that girl was some feeble attempt at revenge?" he asked, becoming annoyed. "You should not partake in such dangerous activities."

" _You_ should not tempt my anger," she told him, face blazing. He didn't realize the power at her mercy—the very future of the Mojave. "It is no wonder you do not trust me. How could I be trusted when you are so untrustworthy yourself, when you lack such integrity?"

His thumb caressed her cheek. " _Maria_ —"

She turned her face away. "I am not Martina. You cannot persuade the words you want from me. You have betrayed me," she repeated. "Be sure that it does not happen again."

He finally released her, his face now more visible through the darkness since her eyes had adjusted. It wore the signature placid mask while his eyes were hard and sharp as freshly-cut diamonds. "Have you completed your task at the Lucky 38?" he asked shortly.

She rubbed the smarting bruises on her arm. "Not yet. I will finish tomorrow."

He nodded and turned to leave the room.

The rage and jealously stilled boiled beneath her skin, thrumming loudly in her ears. She would not be dismissed so easily. She would be allowed one victory. She called out to him before he stepped through the door. "I want her dead, Vulpes."

"As much as I would love to obey your command, I'm afraid Martina Groesbeck is far too valuable to Caesar."

"And who is more valuable to Caesar? Martina Groesbeck or the Courier Reborn?"

Vulpes smirked. "Why don't you prove it?"

And she did. The unreachable Mr. House had been infiltrated. The immortal man had been slain. His ubiquitous obituary was passed around for many days after his reported death.

And with Mr. House gone, other forces began mobilizing to take his place. With one pawn out of the picture, the player—the Courier Reborn—found her game choices narrowed as the incurring events began unfolding.


	20. Chapter 20

Killing Mr. House was the first murder she had committed in cold blood. Even if the Legion had not ordered it, Mr. House's death was still a necessary evil. She recognized the greed, the vindictive self-importance, the lack of empathy from her first encounter with him.

But still, coming across Mr. House's true form was a humbling experience, for him at least: a shriveled cadaver, barely animate through the use of life support tubes and wires. He was truly less man than machine. Though she couldn't bring herself to regret it, her actions caused Victor to attack her in Mr. House's defense, and she had been forced to put him down.

News spread of Mr. House's death before she even stepped foot outside the Lucky 38. Then she realized the lasting effects of removing Mr. House as the most prominent figure in New Vegas. It left the Strip open for control. And she knew the NCR and the Legion had their eyes set on New Vegas.

And then there was Yes Man who could control the patrolling securitrons. For her.

She shamelessly approached Mr. Fox at Gomorrah. She wore a dress borrowed from Sarah to fit in, to look the part of a gambling patron on the Strip. She strode toward him with her head held high, sliding next to him at the Black Jack table. Despite having Martina on his other side, Mr. Fox devoted his entire attention to her.

She passed the printed obituary of Mr. House to him. It was rather lengthy. "Tell me I'm not more valuable than Martina Groesbeck."

His eyes travelled the length of the document. His companion, at first not noticing the competitive distraction, began to pull at his arm like a petulant child.

"Foxy…"

He ignored Martina, eyes only for _her_. He whispered in her ear. "Lord Caesar thanks you for your service."

"I think I deserve more than a _thanks_."

He blinked, a hint of a smirk touching his features. "What would you have as your reward?"

"I would have you take care of that _profligate_ currently clawing for your attention."

His face didn't change. She heard Martina's voice whine from behind him.

"Foxy! Why are you ignoring me? Who is this?"

Vulpes turned to her slowly. "Miss Groesbeck, I'd like to introduce you to my wife."

Martina's face hardened. "Your _wife_?"

Vulpes moved until he could show his wife to her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, much to Martina's apparent displeasure. "Yes, my wife. Mary Fox. As you can see, her beauty has a way of drawing every eye in the room."

Martina scoffed. "Foxy, you never told me you had a _wife_." She gave a devilish smirk, intent on hurting as many as she could with her barbed words. "Perhaps that's why you came to me so much."

"On the contrary, Miss Groesbeck. Mary and I have only recently married, and I can assure you, I would have not left her bedside if I could help it, especially if it was for you."

Martina's smirk faltered. "I don't understand—"

"You will apologize to my wife, Miss Groesbeck, for your misplaced and unworthy denigration."

Martina turned indignant. "I will _not_ —"

His voice immediately took a dangerous edge. "You _will_ apologize to her, Miss Groesbeck. You will not disrespect my wife again. I will not repeat myself a third time."

Martina, appearing quite afraid, quickly sputtered an apology.

Then they left the Strip, hand in hand, on their way back to Fortification Hill. Before leaving Gomorrah, Vulpes hinted to the doorman that Martina Groesbeck was selling Omerta secrets.

Back at the Fort, her weapons were once again confiscated, her armor replaced with her Legion tunic. But even with her status demoted back to Frumentarii wife, she could not miss the new guarded respect she saw in the eyes of the Legionnaires around her. Killing Mr. House had had its benefits.

Even Lord Caesar was impressed. He summoned her to his tent to personally congratulate her. It was a brief word of thanks from him before he went to excitedly speak of the Legate Lanius, Monster of the East. The Legate would be arriving soon to lead the battle against Hoover Dam.

"With Lanius in play—"

But Caesar stopped in mid-sentence. His face fell slack, his eyes became unfocused. She knew from reading medical journals at Doc Mitchell's that Caesar was experiencing an absence seizure.

Before she could diagnose any further, Vulpes quickly ushered her out of the tent.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"Lord Caesar is tired. He has much to deal with," was all Vulpes would say.

"So much for being Mars Reborn," she muttered.

Vulpes allowed himself a chuckle. "Watch your words," he warned lightly.

Her next assignment came shortly, and she was surprised how Caesar seemed so eager to trust her with these great tasks. After the death of Mr. House, no one seemed to question her loyalty any more.

The assignment was a list of tribes she should rally to the Legion cause. The Boomers, the White Glove society. The Great Khans were already secured. But the Brotherhood of Steel needed to be destroyed.

"The Brotherhood of Steel?" she asked skeptically, arching an eyebrow.

Caesar did not sound patient enough to answer questions. "You aren't familiar with the Brotherhood?"

"Oh, I'm familiar with them," she said, tucking the list in the front pocket of her leather armor. "I'm just wondering how you expect me to wipe them out."

Caesar gave a careless shrug. "You took care of that bunker. I'm sure you can find something creative."

To even more of her surprise, she was to go alone, without escort. It seemed even Vulpes would now trust her, even after her affair with Sarah. But then, Vulpes clarified for her in Caesar's presence. "My skills are needed elsewhere. With Martina Groesbeck gone, I will need to secure another line of informants."

She probably should have felt ashamed for causing Martina's death. Word had reached them shortly after they left the Strip. The Omertas were not fond of spies. But she was not ashamed. She was even a little satisfied.

"Which reminds me," Caesar said, shifting his weight on his throne, directing his attention to her. That extravagant throne of skulls and spires. "With Martina gone, you'll need to meet with Captain Curtis of the NCR."

She wrinkled her nose. "Why?"

Caesar, once again too impatient to answer questions, waved his hand for Vulpes to answer. Caesar continued to cradle the back of his neck, as if he suffered from some headache. Given the absence seizure from the previous day, it was probably some hell of a headache.

"Captain Curtis is one of my Frumentarius," Vulpes supplied in his lord's stead. "He's spying on the NCR for us. I don't visit him because it's took risky. Normally I would send Martina to retrieve information from him."

"So now you're sending me instead," she said in a sharp voice. She didn't intend it to sound so accusing, but she despised being reduced to a courier filling in for Martina's position.

Vulpes smiled, and it was quite condescending. "It's only temporary."

She was roughly dismissed from Caesar's tent then, but not before she heard Caesar inquiring Vulpes on the whereabouts of Silus.


	21. Chapter 21

Camp McCarran was the NCR base next to the Strip. Prewar, it had been an airfield, and the NCR made use of the vast space. All things considered, it was pretty defensible.

The guards at the entrance performed a rather brief security check. They did a quick search but allowed her to keep her weapons. Something in the back of her mind insisted to her that this was stupid. The Legion had better security. Even the casinos on the Strip were more careful.

"Who are you visiting?" a guard asked.

"Captain Curtis," she told him.

The NCR soldier repeated the information on his radio. And then she was welcomed into Camp McCarran.

Captain Curtis's office was on the first floor, and he seemed rather surprised to see her. "Why are you here?"

Annoyed and impatient, she crossed her arms. "Caesar sent me."

Curtis jumped from his seat and ran to close the door. "Why don't you tell all of the NCR that we're Legion?" he hissed. "Why are they sending me a woman anyway?"

His agitation didn't faze her. "Do you have any news for Vulpes or not?"

"Not really news," he grunted, returning to his seat. "I'm sure he already knows about Mr. House. I just have a small problem." His voice trailed off, and he looked up to her expectantly.

She rolled her eyes. "What do you need?"

"They know there's an informant here. I've been tasked with finding who it is. But I can't very well turn myself in. The lieutenant's getting suspicious. I just need you to frame someone—a private that causes a lot of trouble anyway."

"Why can't you do it?" she asked.

"I can't do anything from my position," he said. "It would be too suspicious if I was seen rooting through his footlocker."

"And it wouldn't be suspicious if a civilian was doing it?"

Curtis frowned. "Not as suspicious."

He went to explain how after she planted the incriminating evidence, she would need to slip a bomb on the supply railway. It would help solidify their case against the private, benefiting the Legion.

"Once you've done that, you'll need to kill him."

"The private? Why?"

Curtis looked incredulous with her confusion. "So he won't be able to say anything otherwise or have a chance to prove his innocence."

"Wouldn't that be even more suspicious?"

"It's a risk I can't take."

She shook her head. "I won't kill him. I'll plant your evidence and blow up the rail line, but if you want him dead, you'll need to take care of it yourself."

"What kind of help are you supposed to be?" Curtis asked, annoyed. "I'll be sure to give a full report to Vulpes."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" she asked, unimpressed with the threat.

"It should. You might have heard what happened in Nipton."

She didn't bother to inform Curtis that Vulpes was, by every Legion right, her husband, and no matter what atrocities her husband might commit in Caesar's name, she was by no means afraid of him. For the most part.

She turned to leave the captain's office when he called out, "Silus has been captured and is here for interrogation, if Caesar wanted you to do something about that."

She paused at the doorway. "Silus?"

"You don't know who Silus is?" Curtis asked, getting bad-tempered all over again.

Her knuckles went white with how hard she gripped the doorframe. Her back flared with the ghost of the scars Silus himself had inflicted when he tortured and ravaged her. "I know exactly who Silus is."

After briefly speaking with the officer responsible for capturing and interrogating Silus, she discovered Silus had easily surrendered in the face of defeat. She smirked, knowing that surrender was not part of his training in a society that upholds honorable suicide. Silus was nothing but a coward, and here he was at her mercy.

The officer enlisted her help in the interrogation, since Silus had revealed nothing of Legion strategy. As a member of the NCR, the officer wasn't allowed to utilize the barbaric methods she preferred for interrogations, like senselessly beating the information out of her captives. This is where she, the Courier Reborn, came in. And _she_ held no reservations about those methods either, especially if it was for Silus.

The officer went in to lead him off, introducing a 'friend.' From behind the glass, she saw Silus was smug and unafraid, even taunting the NCR officer with his enjoyment of taming slaves.

"We'll see what my friend has to say about that."

Silus's smirk instantly vanished once she stepped into the room. He tried unsuccessfully to recover from his shock. "Figures you are here, betraying us," he grunted in a thick voice. I told them all you would."

"You were the one that surrendered yourself," she pointed out, circling around him. "And, actually, Lord Caesar sent me here."

"No—" he hissed, the chair scraping across the floor as he struggled against his bindings. "No, I haven't betrayed Lord Caesar. I haven't defected. I've told them nothing."

"You surrendered, Silus. You have failed Caesar already."

"No. I am loyal. I am—"

"I don't really care, if I'm honest, Silus. Caesar might want you alive. But he's not here. I am."

Time began to pass strangely. Minutes ticked by, feeling like agonizing hours and brief seconds. She was not sensitive to the passage of time, only aware of the dull stinging on her knuckles.

She was not experienced, practiced at hand-to-hand combat, but since the NCR officer had confiscated her other weapons, her hands were the only things she had left. And she made use of them.

Silus's face was bloody and purple, dark bruises covering his cheeks and nose. Though he had struggled against his bindings, they prevented him from escape and retaliation. The force of her anger, her revenge rendered him unconscious within minutes. The last, meaningless words he choked out with bloodied spittle, "You profligate whore."

She didn't grace him with a response.

The NCR officer returned some minutes later, slightly irritated that Silus was unconscious. Her temper soothed when she told her the location of some insignificant Legion camp she had heard Vulpes mention. Satisfied, the NCR officer left, and she went to grab her knife in the absence of NCR eyes.

And she shoved the blade of that knife through Silus's temple.


	22. Chapter 22

She washed herself of the filth of the NCR, the sins of Silus, by exploring forbidden territory. Caesar wanted her to visit the Boomers, the White Glove Society. She visited the Followers of the Apocalypse instead.

It was curiosity, really. To see the origins of Caesar. To test the extent of their goodwill philosophies. After the ruthlessness of the Legion, the brutality, she felt her own self corrupted, her soul stained. Carla and Baby Craig had once been her anchor of goodness and empathy.

But her list of sins was growing. Mr. House. Martina Groesbeck. The unfortunate private at the NCR framed for treason. Even Silus. In a way, seeking out the Followers of the Apocalypse was a search for redemption.

"Get in a fight?" asked Julie Farkas, as she examined her swollen knuckles. The leader of the Old Mormon For produced a stimpak from her lab coat.

"You could say that," she said carefully, bracing herself for the pinch of the stimpak's needle.

"It could always be worse," Julie concluded with a hint of a smile, pocketing the used stimpak. The Followers threw away nothing. "Let me know if you need anything else. We'll do our best, even if our supplies are low at the moment."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she ventured.

Julie blinked, looking shocked but ultimately pleased with the offer as her smile grew more sincere. "You really want to help?"

She nodded. "I can do anything you need.  _Anything_."

Julies steered her out of the medical tent, detailing the problems that plagued the Followers. Mostly, they needed a stable supply line of medicine. Then there were other things—people strung out on addiction. She was worried and needed them back so they could help the community.

She nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

It was easy to convince the Atomic Wrangler to trade with the Followers. Julie wasn't as thrilled with the idea, blaming the Wrangler for creating a massive demand for addictive chems. But even Julie wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She reluctantly accepted this new exchange with the Atomic Wrangler.

The man standing next to her quirked a pale eyebrow and it arched above his eyeglasses. He didn't say anything until Julie walked away to tend to more patients. "Bit ironic, isn't?" he asked. "We're trying to cure people of their addiction by giving money to the people who cause it."

She admittedly agreed it wasn't the best option, but his sharp words annoyed her. "It looks like the Followers don't have much room to argue."

He shrugged. "A fair point. That's why Julie walked away instead of arguing. I merely question the effectiveness of the decision."

"Look, I agree with the work you're doing here, but you can't deny how much the Followers are struggling," she pointed out, thinking of what Vulpes had said. Caesar had specific plans to exterminate them. They had to be prepared for the inevitable. "A detail like the identity of your supplier of medicine becomes irrelevant if the Followers just die out. How can you help people then?"

"Like I said, a fair point," he said. "But a small detail like that becomes significant when the Followers get big enough to make a difference. What does it say of us if we contribute to the illness of addiction?"

"Hopefully, once you're that big, you'll have the economic stability to have the pick of your preferred supplier."

He grinned, and it was amused. "I'm Arcade, by the way. Self-appointed Head of Research. Really, Julie sticks me in the back and lets me work on what I want. I'm not so good at dealing with people."

His quick words suggested a unique wit she rarely encountered in the Wasteland. She smiled. "You seem to be doing fine with me."

Arcade seemed rather surprised by this realization. "Perhaps it's because of the person I'm speaking to. You don't strike me as one of the blind masses following the NCR."

She blinked at his frankness. "You don't like the NCR?" She was surprised, thinking most people worshiped the heroism of the New California Republic.

"No, quite honestly, I don't. Where Mr. House was one individual of avarice, pride, and selfishness, the NCR is a collective cesspool with basically the same goals—to conquer and exploit."

"What about the Legion?" she asked curiously.

Arcade barked a single, humorlessly bitter laugh. "Lord Caesar? Apart from the ruthless brutality and forced slavery, what's not to love? No, I do not have to be on the side of either the Legion or NCR. The Wasteland would be better off without any of them, though the Legion is definitely by far the worst."

Something in Arcade's words resonated deep within her. His words were eloquently anachronistic. She imagined that Vulpes, without Legion contamination, would be very much like him.

Still, she couldn't help but prod Arcade on his ideologies. "I had heard that Caesar was once a Follower of the Apocalypse."

Instantly, Arcade's face hardened. "The madness and tyranny of one man is not the fault of his birthplace."

She used the next day to herd the junkies back to the Old Mormon Fort. They were belligerent at first but actually required very little convincing to return to the Followers of the Apocalypse. When she escorted them back, she came across Arcade gain. He seemed eager to see her as well, but in light of their previous conversation, he kept his excitement reserved.

"Hello again. I'm surprised to see you here. I did not think you would care about us _little people_."

She frowned. "I told Julie I wanted to help. I told you that I agree with your work here. Why would that be surprising?"

Arcade shrugged. "Your line of questioning yesterday suggested your skepticism of our abilities here."

"I was just picking your brain," she dismissed. "Don't take it personally."

"I never caught your name."

"I never gave it."

There was an awkward pause, a tension hanging in the air over the issue of her name. Little did he know how much mystery it held for her.

She took a leap, hoping Vulpes had been right. "It's Mary."

"Mary," Arcade repeated.

She wrinkled her nose at the sound of it. Mary sounded too flowery, too innocent to suit her. She was undeserving of it. "Tell me about yourself, Arcade," she asked, getting her mind off the gaping rift of her memories.

"There's not much to tell. Just a sad child with a sad childhood. My mother did her best with me, though there's little a mother can do with a dysfunctional child."

"You're not dysfunctional," she protested.

He gave another shrug, as if the sadness of life was a casual topic worthy of dismissal. "You didn't know me as a child. Perhaps I'm better at hiding it now. After all, I'm researching mechanics of useless plants instead of treating people like the other doctors here. What purpose do I serve now? Dysfunctional."

Julie approached them then, and Arcade instantly fell silent in her presence. "Thank you for bringing those people back to us," she said.

"It's my pleasure. Is there something else I can do to help?"

Julie was taken aback by the offer once more. "I-I don't have anything else at the moment. If you come across any medicine, we greatly appreciate donations."

She nodded. "Of course."

Julie left them alone again, and for once, Arcade struggled to fill the following silence. "Like Julie said. We appreciate your help. We don't typically see this amount of kindness from Wastelanders."

"I'm not like other Wasterlanders," she confided with a coy smile. Perhaps it was all the pride and bravado Vulpes had built her up on it, but maybe she was beginning to believe in the whole rising from the dead with a purpose.

She lingered at the Mormon Fort for a few days. Her time with Siri and the Legion afforded her knowledge of medicinal techniques that did not require the use of stimpaks and she shared this information with the Follower doctors. But soon, her time at the Fort came to standstill. Most of the Follower patients were recovering addicts who required days of rehabilitation. There was little she could do.

And a nervous pressure began pushing at the base of her neck. She had been away from Fortification Hill for many days now. Without the presence of the Legion or performing Caesar's tasks, she began to feel renewed. Without the oppressive shadow of the Legion and Vulpes, she could enjoy her small measure of freedom.

But an anxiety persisted at the back of her mind. Caesar and Vulpes would not be patient forever. She would need to return eventually.

Or what?

Admittedly, the thought of opposing Caesar was exhilarating. But she was also afraid.

Primarily, she was terrified of Vulpes, no matter what her defiance may have been with Captain Curtis. The bruises on her arm still lingered from the aftermath, Vulpes's rage, of her tryst with Sarah. And she knew she was not in any position to oppose the entire Legion.

Yet.

She knew she had to leave. She said her goodbyes to Julie and the others the night before. For Arcade, she offered him an opportunity.

"Come with me," she pleaded. She enjoyed his company, though she didn't want to say that aloud.

He seemed skeptical at first. "Where?"

"Nelson Air Force Base. Imagine what we could accomplish with the Boomers. They have the firepower to stand up to the NCR."

"And the Legion," he added.

She nodded. "And the Legion," she agreed, though she was not yet prepared to take them on. She recalled the rumors of Lanius, Monster of the East.

He thought for a moment. "Why do you want me?" he asked.

"Because you are capable of so much more than researching irradiated plants. You can make a difference, and I trust you, Arcade. Don't be so hard on yourself."

He smirked, folding his arms. "Fine. But you do realize the Boomers will blow up anyone that gets too close to the base?"


	23. Chapter 23

She had Arcade wait for her by the road as she ventured forward to Nelson alone. And Arcade didn't lie. They fired various rounds of explosives at her. She barely dodged them, fiercely hoping they did not emit radiation. The hearing in her right ear turned to an ever-present ringing, but otherwise, she made it to the gate, unscathed.

The conversation with their head of security was tense, but eventually, the woman relented and let her inside to speak to Pearl, leader of the Boomers.

Despite the bombs and the tense confrontation at the front gate, Pearl was excited to welcome a newcomer into their fold. She had always feared that the Boomers would die off, isolated from the rest of the world. Given Pearl's welcoming demeanor, she was glad that she was the first one that had made it past their volley of bombs. Someone else could have easily rallied the Boomers to their cause, and she definitely needed them.

There was a small catch, and it wasn't unreasonable. She had to prove her friendliness, willingness to get involved in the Boomer community. So after retrieving Arcade, she first went to work with their doctor, healing some of their injured. Arcade was thoroughly ecstatic being inside Nelson.

She did some other chores, taking care of a particular ant problem, listening to Boomer history. It was actually fascinating to learn that they came from a vault. And Mother Pearl was easy to please, making them honorary Boomers for their help. Arcade was even more excited about the leather flight jacket they presented him.

Then, she was left asking Pearl the pressing question. "There's a war coming to Hoover Dam. Would you help me?"

Mother Pearl smiled. "Anything for you."

Something about the exchange troubled Arcade, and he approached her that evening. "I hope _helping you_ means fighting for the independence of New Vegas."

She blinked at him. "The independence?" she repeated. "How would we achieve that when there's the NCR and the Legion?"

"In my opinion, the Mojave is better off without both of them. But we have power—the Boomers are on our side. Let the NCR and the Legion fight it out at the Dam. When they're weakened, the people of Freeside can rise up to claim New Vegas as theirs."

"The Boomers are only one ally," she pointed out. "And I don't expect them to leave the safety of Nelson when they have howitzers."

"Then get more allies. There's the Great Khans. I could even… talk to a few friends. We _can_ do this."

She continued to blink at his inspiring words. Yes Man's suggestions came back to her, and she saw the outcome of Arcade's proposed battle plan before her. With a securitron army, they _could_ win the freedom of New Vegas and the Mojave.

"Okay," she said, nodding slowly. "I think I know another thing that can help us. We need to go back to the Strip."

Arcade nodded, his gaze severe. "We will leave in the morning."

Their journey back to New Vegas filled her with a sickening anticipation. Her chest burned with this empowerment. The future Arcade had painted could be achieved. It was realistic. But, just as realistic, was its defeat. So many uncertainties could crumble that dream. But the important part was that they were trying, and the liberating sense of even having that choice was exhilarating. Gone were the days of the oppressive slave collar.

In this freedom, she thought of visiting Novac and searching for Carla and the Boone family, to rally them to her cause. She missed the support of their friendship. But she doubted the Boones had even stayed in Novac, and she didn't have the time to search for them.

Once they were at New Vegas, she and Arcade bickered over where to stay. Arcade preferred the Vault 21 hotel, and although she did too, she couldn't bear the thought of seeing Sarah again. The prospect of it filled her with a heavy sense of guilt.

"I have to visit the Lucky 38. We can meet up at the Ultra Luxe in an hour."

Arcade was confused by this. "Why the Ultra Luxe?"

She remembered that Caesar wanted them as allies, so she thought she could likewise use them for herself. "Because we could use the support of the Strip Families."

Arcade seemed dubious. "The Families only perpetuate the exploitation and the poverty of Freeside."

"It's like with the Atomic Wrangler. Once we are in a position of more power, we can pick and choose our own allies."

Arcade looked as if he didn't agree but argued no further. "I'm going to need a suit."

They parted ways.

Yes Man was at the Lucky 38 waiting for her. He inserted his operating system into the Lucky 38 mainframe and then, he was able to discover the true purpose of the Platinum Chip.

He took her on an elevator ride to give her a demonstration. What she saw gave her confidence in Arcade's plan.

She discussed potential allies with Yes Man who informed her that the Great Khans were taking up residence in Red Rock Canyon. She would probably need to dispatch the Legionnaire diplomat there to sway their leader, Papa Khan.

After an hour, she changed into the borrowed dress she still had from Sarah and made her way to the Ultra Luxe were Arcade was waiting with an uncomfortable smile.

"I'm terrible at gambling," he confided as she joined him at the Blackjack table. "I think too much about everything."

She didn't look at him as she responded. "It's not about intelligence. It's about luck." Her eyes shifted around the casino for some faction leader or other prominent individual she could appeal to. It was hard to tell the differences in rank when they all wore face masks.

"Here, here," the dealer cried, agreeing with her words before dealing out the next hand of cards.

She continued searching, barely attentive to the soft complaints Arcade issued. After successfully winning one hand, Arcade's complaints lessened. He began shifting his attention to the other patrons of the casino, commenting on their level of attractiveness. He was more complimenting of men, which didn't surprise her. He'd been mildly flirtatious with the doctor at Nelson.

But as Arcade helped himself to more scotch, the comments became bolder. "Now, _he_ is a looker. You can tell how strong he is by how the buttons on his shirt seem to stretch tightly across his chest." He sipped his tumbler of golden liquid. "I bet he's amazing in bed. He has that steely gaze of someone who would be quite dominant. It's pretty sexy."

She turned to see the object of Arcade's affections, curious about the specimen Arcade was so attracted to. But the laugh died on her lips when she saw this glorious man. "That's my husband."

Arcade, too inebriated to notice her apprehension, took another sip. "Lucky," he muttered darkly.


	24. Chapter 24

She tensed as she watched her _Lord Husband_ stride across the room, heading directly for her. Panic bubbled in her throat as her mind scrambled for her original purpose, her task set by Caesar. But she took immediate measures to calm herself. She wasn't doing anything wrong. Technically, she was doing exactly as Caesar instructed by enlisting the White Glove Society.

Which left the question, why was Vulpes here?

When he joined them at the table, his eyes smoothly registered Arcade's presence beside her without betraying any sort of reaction. "Interesting company, my dear," he said in that delicately muted voice. Arcade did not hear him and thus perceived no insult.

She feared Vulpes would think of Arcade jealously as he did with Sarah and she wanted so desperately to quell such imagined suspicions. But she had no idea how, outside of blurting Arcade's orientation before them all. So she turned the attention instead to him. "What brings you here?" In a lower voice she asked, unable to mask the wounded pride, "Does Caesar not trust me?"

The gaze Vulpes turned to her all but abandoned Arcade. "That's not why I'm here." Something in his tone and face surprised her. It was uniquely uncommon for Vulpes even to appear so concerned. "Should we speak in private?"

Before she could respond, the inebriated Arcade seemed to belatedly join the conversation. He attempted standing, which did not go very well for him as he stumbled. "Name's Arcade, Arcade _Gannon_. And your wife here is an upstanding lady of—" He gave a small hiccup here. "A _lady_ of high moral fortitude. We might have spent some time together, but I assure you that nothing of questionable infidelity has occurred between the two of us. Why, I do not even care for her sex. I actually find you more pleasing to mine eyes." For emphasis, Arcade peered at Vulpes over the brim of his eyeglasses, and she felt herself crumble on the inside from sheer shock and embarrassment. The slurred words were loud enough to give the blackjack dealer pause as the other patrons listened closely to their conversation.

The corner of Vulpes's mouth curled in amusement. "I appreciate the clarification, Mr. Gannon. But I have no doubt of my wife's fidelity."

Still looking over the top of his glasses, Arcade slurred, "She might have to worry about yours, though, if I have my way."

This caused her to give a great snort, but she felt entirely ashamed to witness such an exchange. Vulpes remained patient and acted as though he did not hear his wife laugh at Arcade shamelessly flirting with him. She estimated that Vulpes would probably want to lash Arcade to a cross for his profligate sins and desires.

Vulpes leaned in close to her, and she felt the stifling body heat through the thin shirt and the hard planes of his chest. "Maria, do you recall when you had inquired about our _Father's_ medical condition?"

Arcade briefly interrupted. " _Maria_? I thought your name was Mary."

Her face burned but she ignored him for the moment.

It took no effort for her to realize that _Father_ meant Caesar, and the medical condition must have included the headaches and absence seizures. "Yes, I remember. You said that he was tired and had much to deal with." She knew, however, there was more to it than that, but she was content to leave the Caesar's cranial trauma undiagnosed.

Vulpes's smile was wry. "Yes, well I am afraid that his condition has worsened. Siri has deduced that he suffers from a tumor in the brain, but she is incapable of treatment. She recommended you, actually."

Her stomach twisted at the possibility of treating a brain tumor. If she had the right equipment, there might be something she could do about it. But she had never performed surgery before—

"Your father has a brain tumor?" Arcade piped up. He leaned against his booth seat. "I'm with the Followers of the Apocalypse. I have medical training. I could help, actually. I'm much better at medicine than _Maria_." It was a teasing sneer, she knew, as he referenced how he had been far more capable of treating the patients at Nelson than she was.

But her chest immediately tightened as Vulpes looked Arcade over once more with a keen eye, like the hungry fox he was. She could see Vulpes sizing Arcade up. And if Arcade was ever taken to the Legion, he would remain, as slave. Like her and Siri. Never allowed to leave.

"No! _No!_ " she hissed. She placed a pleading hand on Vulpes's chest to ground him back to her. It worked enough to reclaim his attention for the moment. "We don't need him, Vulpes. I will go with you. I can treat him. Caesar will live."

Vulpes arched a curious eyebrow at her urgency. "You are awfully protective of this Follower of the Apocalypse. Has your loyalty to Caesar so easily defected for this profligate's sake?"

"When have I ever given an oath of loyalty to the Legion?" she countered steely. "Please, Vulpes. I just ask you this one thing. Don't take him."

He considered her request with an expression of serious deliberation. She held onto a glimmer of hope, until he glanced at Arcade again. "He is of the Followers of the Apocalypse. He is a profligate who prefers men. Enslavement will be better for him than what Caesar has in mind for the Followers when he takes the Dam, since you care so much for him."

"Vulpes, _no_!"

He spoke louder to include Arcade into the conversation this time. "I cannot refuse when he so readily volunteers."

She felt that hope, the light of Arcade's proposed plan to take New Vegas for the people shatter and dissolve. Vulpes escorted the drunken Arcade who did not yet possess his normal faculties out of the casino and out of New Vegas where other Frumentarii waited for their arrival. They slapped a slave collar on him, but he was too out of his perception to realize the significance. He cheerily chatted away at the Frumentarii, boasting of his own medical abilities.

And she found, as she sullenly followed her _Lord Husband_ back to Fortification Hill, back to her own chains of enslavement, that she did not have the heart to inform Arcade otherwise. When he passed out from drunkenness, the Frumentarii carried him the rest of the way. By the time he awoke and realized his fate, Arcade was already chained by Lord Caesar's side, and she hid away in the Inculta tent, too ashamed of her mistake to apologize.


	25. Chapter 25

She couldn't avoid Arcade forever as she would have liked. Eventually, Caesar summoned her to personally congratulate her efforts with the Boomers, for securing their loyalty. Little did he know, their loyalty was with _her_ , not the Legion.

Still, thanks were apparently in order. She stood before the Great Caesar and held herself very still before his praises. She saw Arcade with chains around his ankles on the ground by Caesar's side, but she very carefully avoided making eye contact. It didn't stop the glare he burned into her skin.

Caesar's praises were, as to be expected, shortlived for a woman, and he ended his speech to rebuke her for not accomplishing anything with the White Glove Society and the Brotherhood yet. He excused the former failure; the Legion was strong enough without a Strip Family. He pressed upon her the urgency of the later; the Brotherhood _must_ be annihilated.

It was urgent that she left soon; Caesar was impatient and wanted to take the dam as soon as possible. Lanius was close, arriving any day now. The Monster of the East would not wait, so Vulpes warned. She said nothing, reduced to a numb shell barely aware of her surroundings. She didn't leave immediately for her task as Caesar had desired, even despite the prodding of Vulpes.

"You were so willing to jump at any opportunity to leave the Fort. What's changed? Please do not tell me that you are still upset about the enslavement of that Follower doctor."

"And if I am?" she countered impassively, methodically stitching the repairs in her armor.

Vulpes straightened, composing himself from his annoyance. "If you were, I would gently remind you the futility of your concern, supposing your loyalty remains with me and the Legion. Your Follower companion is safest where he is, as I've already pointed out. In either case, as the personal ward of Caesar, little can be done for him now."

She rose from her seat and calmly walked past him. "Perhaps my loyalty does not remain. As I've already suggested, perhaps my loyalty never was."

He gripped her arm before she could leave his presence. His hold was firm but not painful. "Maria—"

She turned her head to look him in those diamond eyes. "I don't know who this _Maria_ is." Despite her calm, she could do nothing to suppress the slight shake in her voice, the hiss of her timbre over his appointed name of her.

He seemed taken aback by her severity. She wasn't sure to believe if that was even an authentic reaction from the ever-calculated Vulpes. "Is this how you've decided to punish me?"

"What would I be punishing you for, my _lord husband_?" she countered sweetly. The condescending sneer always accompanied the title she mocked.

His eyebrows quirked. She could imagine he was at a loss on how to respond to her ever-changing temperament. "What sin have I committed that garners your punishment?"

She twisted from his grip. "I've no idea."

She started on her path again to leave his presence, but something he said held her back. "You're being dishonest with me."

"Only to the extent that you've been dishonest with me." She paused. "I'll leave and do as Caesar commands, since apparently, I'm the only one in the entire Legion capable."

He dipped his head, angling his face closer to her. She could feel his light breath against her earlobe. "Make no mistake. It's not your capability. It's your dispensability."

She inclined her own head, keeping her sweet smile. "But _you_ don't think I'm dispensable."

She left him then with his confused expression puzzling over her words.

She went alone on Lucullus's raft across the great river. She sat, blinking into the setting sun. If she was being honest with herself, she felt an overwhelming sense of solitude and loneliness. Boone was gone. Carla and Baby Craig gone. Victor was gone. She would see Sarah never again. Never again. She wouldn't visit Goodsprings and risk Doc Mitchell or the Nashes in Primm as she had foolishly risked Arcade. Her husband was left behind, enigmatic as ever, to a fault even.

Heroes were oft lonely, a fate she would have to expect. But she was already so exhausted, so drained of her heroism.

But she would remain stalwart. She would not let the Legion the victory of conquering _her_.

Red Rock Canyon had been her initial destination but it was a long ways from Cottonwood Cove. She could afford some detours. Novac was her first one. And she went under the cover of night. They could remember her, and she didn't want to be recognized. It was best for them if she remained undetected.

First, she checked on the Boones. Her heart made an odd leap in her chest, it felt like panic almost, at the prospect of the Boones remaining in Novac, being so close. But one look into their room told her it was long abandoned. Boone probably hadn't returned to it since she was first captured.

Hell, that seemed ages ago now.

She had a room herself at the little motel. It had been ages since she visited the inside of it as well. She clearly remembered on their return from REPCONN how she had eagerly awaited her bed, a bed she owned. It wasn't much but it was something in this cruel world.

She slipped inside, wondering what was left of her meager possessions. She didn't have much After the Bullet. Very few personal items of any sentimental value. The only thing was a Vault 112 suit granted to her by Doc Mitchell. She wondered if the denizens of Novac ever rented her room out to anyone else. When she opened the door, she discovered it was left mostly untouched.

But only mostly.

On the bed was a dark mass of fabric, uncharacteristic of the room. When she drew closer to it, she saw a familiar sight. A black, threadbare scarf, bespeckled with white and pink. The sight of it almost made her cry out. She remembered the last time she had seen it—around Carla's neck holding Baby Craig as they slipped away from her forever.

Even more glorious, it came with a note in cramped writing:

_We do not know if you made it out. We do not know if you will ever make it out or if you will die like the countless others bound by the Legion. But what we do know is that we will be eternally grateful for your help and friendship. Baby Craig, as you so affectionately call him, will be raised on the legend of the Courier Reborn who risked everything to protect him and ensure his safety. You will never be forgotten._

_We have no other way to repay you or thank you for what you've done. So we've done the only thing we can think of_ — _return this scarf to you, whether or not you are able to come back for it._

 _We are not staying in Novac. We are going west_ — _towards California. We hope, one day, to see you again._

_We love you._

_Signed,_

_Craig, Carla, and "Baby" Craig Boone._

Her hands were shaking, making it difficult to reread their words. It took her entirely too long to realize she was crying.

"We love you," they had said.

Little did they know, the Boones actually saved her from a dark, forsaken path. There was nothing for them to repay.

She took her scarf, her only token to her past humanity, and buried her face into it. She imagined she could smell the sweet fresh scent of Baby Craig. And she wept into it.

After a few minutes, she pushed down and swallowed her emotions. She wrapped the scarf loosely around her neck, climbed onto the bed, and waited.

The sun came with the dawn and passed inexorably across the dirty window. She did not move from her spot. She waited for many hours until the sun dipped low into the sky and became night again.

And then, the door opened as she had suspected it would. She greeted her visitor. "I knew you would show yourself."


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we *learn* a bit about my particular Courier's shadowy past. Please note the liberties I've taken with the characters. We're close to the end!

"I knew you would show yourself."

Vulpes stepped through the door, dressed in his Mr. Fox attire. "Yes, I suspect my presence isn't surprising." He adjusted the hem of his gambling coat. "Though, I must admit, I hadn't anticipated that you would be waiting for me."

"No," she agreed. "I'd imagined that you would be worried about me."

Vulpes quirked an eyebrow but did nothing else to verbalize his confusion.

And since she had no patience for his inscrutable demeanor, she quickly dispelled that confusion. "My last words to you? I felt that they would raise some red flags. _You don't think I'm dispensable._ What is the Courier Reborn getting herself into now? What trouble will she find? What dangers will she seek? What is she trying to prove and how far will she go to prove it?"

Vulpes allowed himself an impressed smirk. "And you plotted all of this from one mysterious remark? Why?"

"You should know why. Taking you out of the Legion is the first step of taking the Legion out of you."

"If you wanted me to accompany you outside of the Fort, you need only to ask—"

"No," she snapped quickly. "It's not just that. Of course you would have come if I asked. That's not what this is about. I want you to tell me the truth. The fact that you are even here suggests you have something to hide."

"I'm afraid I do not follow—"

But she cut him off again. She would not allow him a moment to conjure lies, she would not give him some semblance of advantage. They were here, in her territory. No Legion. No Caesar. No Frumentarii for Vulpes to shroud himself with. "Tell me something Vulpes," she said, a deep pain threatening to crack her voice. She kept her words, her tone low and hoped it sounded threatening. "What is this?" She unwound the scarf from her neck and tossed it to him.

He caught it easily, but his eyes did not leave her face. They did not inspect the garment he held in his hands. "It's a scarf. The very same, I believe, you gave to that woman and her infant at the Fort, before they escaped with it."

"A man of the Legion, one of Caesar's top Councilors, sees a slave girl brought before Caesar, accused of stealing, with nothing but a baby wrapped in a scarf. And what does that scarf mean? You parade another slave before your precious Caesar. You follow that slave when trouble seems to find her. You stave off the rapists, thieves, and murderers that lurk in the shadows. The slave tries to escape, only she is not fast enough. She is punished, tortured without end. And what do you do? You save this slave. You decide to marry her."

"It was the only way—" he began softly, uncharacteristically.

She did not allow him gentleness. "Other slaves have suffered worse than I. What did I do to deserve such goodwill from you? Siri and Carla called you the Most Evil Man of the Mojave. I have seen the testimony of that name in the ashes of Nipton, in the radioactive waves of Searchlight. Yet when it comes to the nameless, godforsaken Courier Reborn, you act as some sort of Savior."

She finished her rant for the moment, breathing heavily. Fatigue overcame her perception, and her head felt immensely heavy. She did not lower it, though, did not dare to break her gaze with Vulpes.

And for once in an uncharacteristically vulnerable moment, Vulpes could not calculate the appropriate words to say, the words that would grant him the ability to defuse her temper. "What do you want me to say?" His voice was thick.

She gave herself a moment of pause. She looked about the dark room in a dramatic fashion. Then, she very carefully placed her words. "This room reminds of the cave."

She noticed his reaction in the way he held still. Vulpes was a master of extreme self-control, and he seemed to not even allow himself a breath of air. "What are you talking about?"

"I waited a night and a day for you just now. I waited a night and day for you before. I watched the sun rise and fall through the window, just like the cave mouth. Except, this time you came back."

Vulpes continued to hold very still, as if treading dangerous waters. "You remember the cave?" he asked carefully.

"I remember waiting for hours in the heat. I remember the way my calves felt crouching in the darkness, tense and on fire. I remember the crushing disappointment when I realized I had been abandoned."

"I didn't abandon you," he said quietly, but his tone wasn't convincing.

She leaned back and said nothing, allowing him his singular moment for explanation.

He sighed, moving away from the door and choosing a seat on the other end of the room, still a distance from her. The scarf remained in his hands, and he methodically worked the fabric between his fingers as he refused to look at her. After a moment of this distraction, he found his voice. "I wish things had turned out differently. Truly. But the fact remains; things between us have been much changed. You're not the same girl I left back in that cave. What use would have it been if I told you the truth? Would you have believed me for a second if I told you we were lovers? That you were a timid girl that abhorred bloodshed and was obsessed with children? Oh God, the fucking children." He sighed, pressing he bridge of his nose with two fingers. "You took care of every orphan we came across. You wanted children so badly, sometimes I thought you merely kept me around as a means to an end, not that we every met that end."

Something inside of her cringed at this alien description of her. She had a special fondness for Baby Craig, but outside of that bond, she felt no such pull to be a mother. If anything, the idea made her cringe all the more. But she kept her silence, waiting for Vulpes to finish his thoughts and memories.

"Can you even imagine being a mother now? I don't think so. But it's not just you. I'm not the same boy that left you in that cave. Would you believe that I had no interest in military matters? That there had been a time when Vulpes Inculta was not called Vulpes Inculta and he kept his hair long like his hopes and his dreams? How futile. How vapid." The reminiscing of himself turned deprecating.

"So what happened in the cave? What were you called before Vulpes? _Who am I?_ "

His smile was thin and cold. He might have been attempting softness or warmth, but neither suited Vulpes Inculta, and she wondered if he had ever been soft or warm. It seemed unlikely to her. "Your name was Mary, or that's what you called yourself. I was never sure if that was your real name. But you came from the east, as if you were fleeing something. You never told me what. Eventually, I had gotten the impression you came from as far as the east coast. We met in a small tribal town in Utah, and to this day, I've still no idea how you managed to bypass the growing Legion in Colorado."

When he paused too long for her liking, she prompted him. "What happened in Utah?"

His eyes finally left the scarf, meeting hers unwaveringly. "We fell in love."


	27. Chapter 27

"We fell in love?" she repeated. She did not intend for her question to sound so scathing, but it even made Vulpes wince.

"Yes, you could say that. We fell in love, the Profligate way. Visceral and intense. I don't think we could do it again, especially not now."

Something in those words stung, and she turned her face away to not betray her moment of weakness.

He continued as if he was unaware of her pain. "Our meeting was not planned. You had medical experience. You entered the town with the proud agenda of helping the misfortunate, much like your Follower friends. You would not be dissuaded. You caused ripples. Local factions, little better than gangs, did not like what you were doing. A doctor independent of any faction. You were dangerous to their structure of control. First they bribed you, and when that didn't work, the threats came.

"I knew about you from various town hearsay and gossip. I never met you until they sent the first thugs to rough you up. It was complete accident that I walked by. You were afraid, but you wouldn't back down. They weren't sure how to handle an unarmed woman, so they pushed you around a bit. I decided to intervene, winning myself a bloodied nose. Eventually they grew bored with the pathetic pair of us and left. The bloody nose was enough to be invited into your clinic. I was instantly enamored. It took some time for you to be convinced of your own feelings. You were guarded, defensive, afraid to be so vulnerable. I tried convincing you to get a gun to protect yourself and the clinic. You wouldn't hear of it." Vulpes allowed himself a chuckle.

"What happened?"

"I gave you a hunting revolver anyway. But eventually you were so beloved by the people, the thugs and mercenaries left you alone. But something worse came along."

"What?" she asked, leaning forward.

"The Legion began moving west. They attacked nearby towns so much that we had enough of a warning to evacuate most of the people out of ours. Most of the faction thugs remained to test their battle prowess against the Legion. They lost. That's actually where Dead Sea and Alerio came from.

"You led the evacuation of course, sacrificing yourself for the greater good, and I, so besotted, followed along with your every desire. Ultimately, we were too slow. The Legion discovered our convoy fleeing from them. As a last ditch effort, you decided to take them here to the Mojave, hoping to lose them with your eyes set on New Vegas, the Dam, and the expansive reach of the New California Republic. I can only assume it worked."

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"You were here, and I never joined you. The night in the cave was our last together. We stayed behind in that cave to make sure everyone made it across the river."

"And you left?"

"For the fucking children," he whispered, his tone trite and annoyed. Then louder, "There was a boy. Eight years old. And a six year old girl. Luke and Stella. They were cousins, and they got separated from the group. Their grandmother was distraught. But the Legion were too close. You wanted to go back and find them. But I wouldn't let you. I went instead. I told you that if I didn't return by sunrise, it would be too late for us."

"And you never came back," she pieced together solemnly.

"And thus my life in the Legion began. I know Caesar has already told you of my rise through his ranks. The rest you already know."

"And the Legion changed you?" she asked skeptically.

He was having none of her scrutiny. "The Legion changes everyone. It has even changed you. Benny's Bullet certainly did its own work, but you cannot deny the Legion's impact upon you. And here we are. You are not the soft girl afraid of violence and guns. Your compassion for people remains, but it does not rule you as it did before. And I—" He paused. "I am not the hopelessly bewitched boy. I am not soft and reckless as I once was. I am forged by steel and cruelty. I am guilty of horrors unimaginable, just as you have adopted a new sense of ruthlessness that would have shamed you before."

"I am not ruthless—" she began hotly.

He silenced her with an irrefutable list. "Mr. House. Benny. Martina Groesbeck. Silus—yes I've heard about Camp McCarran."

She said nothing, pressing her lips into a thin, pale line. Martina Groesbeck was not her brightest moment, and although she could afford some pity for the girl, she could not bring herself to fully regret Martina's death.

Her silence was telling enough of her own guilty conscience. He quirked a rueful smile. "And so here we are."

"What was your name before Vulpes?"

He looked back down at the scarf. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," she persisted severely.

He sighed, but it was not a sound of defeat. "Michael. You called me Mica."

For her next question, she could not bear to look at him. "Are you still in love with me?"

He took too long to answer. She knew he didn't. "The boy who used to love you no longer exists. However, I find that I am still quite fond of you. But us? We will never return to what we were. You don't even remember the past or your feelings from it. It's all alien to you."

"Maybe I don't have to remember," she said softly.

Vulpes didn't respond, either ignoring the remark or unable to respond it. She wasn't sure which.

"Do you know what happened to the villagers I had evacuated?"

He shook his head slowly, methodically. "I don't know what happened after we were separated. Through all of my exploits of the Mojave Wasteland, I have not encountered any of them."

She nodded at this piece of information impassively. She did not remember these people; their fates would have little bearing on her now.

"So what now?" Vulpes asked, leaning back in his seat, breaking her brief reverie. "I suspect you are not here to follow Caesar's commands."

She continued to look at her hands and decided upon revealing the dangerous truth. "I didn't destroy Mr. House's bunker."

"I know."

She continued, undaunted. "There's a Securitron army waiting for my command. The Boomers have sworn their allegiance to me, not Lord Caesar."

She heard Vulpes readjusting himself on the seat. "I'm not particularly surprised. Am I to assume that your journey here now will not end in the annihilation of the Brotherhood? I would even wager you have plans to rescue your Follower doctor."

Her eyes flickered to look at him. "Are you going to stop me?"

Vulpes managed a smile that actually seemed amused. "Benny's bullet couldn't even do that."


	28. Chapter 28

She went to Fortification Hill for the last time. At least, it would be the last time she would be there under the guise as a loyal follower for Lord Caesar. She would need that cover now more than ever when Vulpes himself, Frumentarius of Mars Reborn, knew the true nature of her heart and its intentions.

She went in the dead of night. Lucullus offered no spare amount of critical glares as he pushed her down the river, but this was best. Night was the most probable time Lord Caesar was fast asleep. He wouldn't be alerted of her presence yet, and she wouldn't be summoned to his presence to answer for her sins, for why the Brotherhood hadn't been destroyed yet. She had already delayed twice, which was enough to deplete Caesar's patience. He would not be patient a third time, not with Lanius, Monster of the East, arriving any moment.

But all she needed was a few minutes, a few precious moments. That was all she had needed for Carla and Baby Craig. She could do the same for Arcade.

For whatever reason, the trip on the river seemed to drag inexorably. Lucullus's unfriendly stares seemed to read her thoughts, her traitorous mind. She kept her expression sealed off and said nothing, except for one question.

"Has my husband returned to the Fort?"

Lucullus's answer was surprising. "No, Vulpes Inculta has not returned for several days."

He hadn't returned since he left for Novac. If anything, that meant that Vulpes had not had a chance to warn Caesar of her turncoat heart. Perhaps she had been faster than him and he was trailing behind her.

Or perhaps, even stranger still, he had no intention to warn his lord and master, which only suggested his own ruination in the Legion.

Either possibility baffled her. She couldn't imagine that Vulpes would let her leave Novac peacefully, unscathed. But he did. Perhaps he sensed the turn of the tide, her ever-reaching influence in the Mojave, far more encompassing than the Legion's. Vulpes was logical; he would never commit to something he knew would ultimately claim his life. It was the only thing that made sense to her, but she still couldn't fathom the depths of his plan or line of thinking, though he had easily deduced hers.

When she reached the gate, she passed through without arising suspicion. She was light on her feet, a nervousness quickening her steps. If only they knew. If only the Legion knew what she had planned for them.

She scaled the hill, skirting the edges of the arena, past her own tent she had shared with Vulpes. When no one was looking, she ducked into a dark space between two tents. She drew her knife and made a small, yet deep incision. The cut stung a bit, but she gritted her teeth against the pain. The dim light of the moon provided enough illumination to show the welling darkness of her blood. The cut could easily be bandaged, but the blood was needed for appearances. She smeared it over her arm, her hands, her clothes, and even wiped some across her face for dramatic effect. She had to press the sharp edge of the blade deeper against her skin in order to yield enough blood. It didn't take long.

Once properly dressed, she approached the abode of Lord Caesar.

She gripped her arm as if it had been severely injured, and predictably, a Praetorian stopped her.

"Lord Caesar is not to be disturbed."

"I need the doctor," she said, intentionally straining her voice.

The Praetorian stood his ground. "Go to Siri."

She indicated to the large amounts of blood that covered her skin and clothes. "I don't trust Siri with this. Get me to the doctor."

The Praetorian inclined his head, considering for only a moment and then, fortunately, he conceded, stepping aside to let her pass.

Caesar kept Arcade chained in his own privy tent adjacent to his own. She gave a quick nod to the other Praetorians in the tent before ducking into Arcade's room.

They had given him a single candle on a table which cast flickering shadows against the canvas walls. Half of his face was covered in darkness as it stirred to look at his visitor.

"Oh, it's you," he said in that light, sardonic voice. She could easily detect the brimming hatred hidden in his tone.

"Arcade—"

"Oh? So you remember my name. It was hard to tell if you even bothered to remember it after you _sold me into slavery._ "

"Arcade, please. We haven't much time."

"You don't have much time? I've got all the time in the world since it belongs to someone else." He eyed the dripping blood unsympathetically. "You expect me diagnose and treat you? I should be so lucky when I thought you had medical experience on your own—"

She understood his pain, his vitriol. If she could spare him a moment to fully purge her for her sins, she would give it. But it was not his moment. " _Just shut it._ I understand if you hate me. I'm not going to argue that. I'm not going to try to persuade you that I'm truly this good person. Think of me what you will. But I made a mistake. And if you want to get the hell out of here, you need the to _shut the fuck up._ "

To her immense surprise and relief, he did. His mouth actually closed for a goddamn moment as he looked her up and down. Then came the snide subtlety. "Are you now? Should I be so lucky?"

After offering the last remark he fell silent. She produced the key she had lifted from the Praetorian and made quick work of the lock on his chains. When the cuffs fell away, Arcade rubbed the feeling back into wrists.

"What now?" he hissed.

She took out her knife and cut a single line down the thick canvas of the outer tent wall. "Now we leave."

She went outside first to check for sentries. They hadn't much changed since her attempted escape with Carla. At least she could still time them so perfectly. When everything seemed clear, she placed a folded note on the table next to the flickering candle. Then she motioned for Arcade to follow her who eyed her note curiously.

They expertly wove their way through the tents, avoiding detection until they came upon the refuge of the Inculta tent.

"Can you swim?" she asked once they were safely inside.

"I can't say I have much experience," he replied bitterly.

"We don't have much time. They'll notice I've been with you for too long. And once they've discovered you're not there, they will immediately know that it was I that helped you. This is the first place they'll look."

Arcade looked appropriately alarmed. "Why did you take us here, then?"

"I didn't realize I had other tents to choose from. Would you rather we hid in Caesar's tent?" she shot back.

Arcade thought for a moment. "That would be the last place they would look."

"We can't stay here. We have a short window, and it's closing _fast._ We can dress you up as Legion and leave through the only exit in disguise or we'll have to crawl through the fence and swim to shore. Even if we manage to make it through the camp without being spotted and fool Lucullus, we'd still have to make it through Cottonwood."

Arcade nodded at this information. "Swimming shouldn't be too difficult."

Upon deciding this, there was a loud shout from outside, an alarm being raised. Arcade's absence had been discovered.

"Time to go," she said, grabbing his hand and yanking him outside.

She heard the sound of praetorians gathering, barking orders to each other. "Profligate whore" was their favorite thing to say. She wasted no time circling the arena, using its wall as cover. When she passed by the machete case for the arena matches, she grabbed one for herself and handed another to Arcade with a simple explanation of, "Just in case."

"Where's your gun?" he asked, panicked at the thought.

"I hid it outside the Fort. Otherwise they would have just taken it at the weapons check at the gate."

This information did not reassure Arcade, but he continued following her all the same. "If we get caught, just kill me. I don't think I could do it myself, and I don't want to be crucified."

"We're going to get out of here," she told him fiercely. As predicted, she heard the legionnaires search the Inculta tent first.

She took them past the weather station, the same place she had seen Carla and Baby Craig to safety, before her own recapture. She _would_ escape this time.

Before Caesar had sent her off to eliminate the Brotherhood, she had spent carefully chosen moments to pry away at the board covering her gap in the fence. It had still been the weakest spot in the perimeter. It was almost completely loose now, and she used the stolen machete to pry at the remaining nail. She chuckled darkly to herself at the thought of humiliating the Legion the same way as she had undermined them the last time.

"I think they're coming," Arcade whispered in utter terror.

The board snapped free, revealing their escape route. "You first. Don't take the machete or you'll cut yourself going down the hill."

Arcade peered through the opening. "That is a _very_ sharp incline."

"Just roll down the hill. It'll get you down faster."

Arcade still looked wholly uncertain but wasted no time to push himself through to freedom.

She stole a glance behind her and saw one lone Legionnaire spotting her. He was too far away to do anything about it. She had been faster this time, and it was enough.

She grabbed her machete, squeezed through the wall, and rolled away.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, at the penultimate chapter! I want to thank everyone that favorited, subscribed, or reviewed this piece, which is honestly the largest, most ambitious endeavor I've ever attempted (and completed) in the realm of fanfiction. I have never written a fanfic this long with this many installments, even when I wrote under a different pen name. It was originally supposed to be a short thing, simply detailing our Courier's life as a Legion slave, but the story continued to speak to me on an inspirational level. It took about a year to finish when I was posting to FFN, but I hope I have successfully delivered something artistic with the appropriate allegorical references while maintaining certain loyalty to the overall theme and feel of the video game and its various characters. I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing, if not a bit more.
> 
> Whether or you've been following this story for a while or you've just happened upon it, I love reading reviews/comments. So please, feel free to share your thoughts. While they won't necessarily change or impact the ending (which is already in place), they will possibly help shape my future writing in how I feel versus audience expectation.

Despite the exhilaration of her freedom, the rolling made her sick and took much longer than she had anticipated. When she finally stopped, her limbs hurt and stung.

Arcade was already waiting for her, standing, his expression one of disapproval. As she stood up, dusting herself off, he pointed to her arms. " _Don't take the machete or you'll cut yourself_ , I believe were your exact words."

She looked down at herself and saw a manner of cuts and scratches crisscrossing down her arms, the source of her stinging. Thankfully, they were shallow and of no consequence.

"I'll be fine. We're not completely free yet. We have to cross the river and hope we don't get caught as we go north."

She could see the venomous words pooling behind his lips, the arguments bubbling. But he would have to save it for later. She dove into the water first, and after a moment's hesitation, Arcade followed suit.

The swim was taxing even for her, with the radioactive water burning the multitude of cuts on her arms and face, tugging at her strength in powerful currents. It was difficult to catch her breath. But, eventually, they made it across, even if she had to support Arcade for more than half the trip. She dragged him up the bank and both fell heavily on their backs, gasping for air as the tide teased their feet.

The swim had completely sapped her energy, but after a few minutes, Arcade found his strength and sat up. His moment had come, finally, with the gray sky of dawn.

"I _think_ , I believe I hate you for what you've done to me."

She remained lying down, unable to respond, to react. "I will never be able to apologize enough for what I did, what I allowed to happen to you."

"Yeah, well, a few apologies certainly wouldn't be misplaced," he said, voice hard.

"I'm sorry," she offered softly.

"A woman of the Legion. You murdered Mr. House, probably others, but a slave to Caesar all the same."

She said nothing.

"You should have told me, right when you first asked me to go to Nelson with you. You should have told me you were Legion, your true intentions. My consent was not informed. And I can't believe I helped you—helped the Legion."

"I didn't go to Nelson for the Legion. I went because I believed in your vision of an independent New Vegas. I still do, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to make that vision a reality."

Arcade looked her over carefully, reserving none of his contempt in his gaze. "You are? With your powerful allies? Your powerful army?"

"Yes. The NCR controls the Dam. The Legion will attack it soon. Neither will be victorious. We will drive them both away."

"And what happens afterward? Do you appoint yourself as supreme ruler of the Mojave?"

The assumption stunned her. "I am no ruler."

"But you have the army, the allies. You're the one with the power, the player moving the pawns. After all your cavorting with the Legion, do you really believe yourself deserving of such a position?"

The vitriol had left his voice. Arcade was all coldness and cruelty. "Do you suggest I step down, then?" she asked.

Arcade refused to meet her gaze. "Stepping down is putting it mildly."

She did not respond to his insinuation that her death would serve the Mojave best. Was that not her fate, after all, as the hero? Benny's bullet had tried to claim her prematurely. A hero had no place once their destiny was sated, their purpose fulfilled.

After several minutes, Arcade stood up. "In the meantime, I will assist in helping you with this vision. I told you I had some friends—Remnants of the Enclave. They can assist with aerial power. I'll gather them together but once the battle is done, _we are finished_."

Her throat constricted. She hated his finality. "I understand."

"I just have one question. What did you write on that note you left in Caesar's tent?"

She managed a small chuckle at her cleverness. "A warning in the form of Shakespeare. _Then fall, Caesar!_ "

She took some comfort in that Arcade laughed at the reference. But all too soon, it was time for them to part ways. His goodbye was curt, unsympathetic, and she didn't have the energy to properly convey how much she did care for him, how much he inspired her. How much he meant to her.

After he had long disappeared to complete his mission, she finally pushed herself up, retrieving her hidden revolver, and made her way to the Lucky 38 where Yes Man was waiting for her. It was time to set things in motion.

The Securitrons at Fortification Hill's bunker were primed. She imagined that the earth under the Legion camp hummed with energy and she imagined, _hoped_ , that Caesar was frightened.

A transmission was sent to Nelson Air Force Base. They were in position.

A confirmation from Arcade took longer than she would have liked. The transmission signal was scrambled so she would not know where the Enclave Remnant's hidden bunker was. She couldn't entirely blame him.

The Securitrons patrolling the New Vegas Strip watched for the enigmatic presence of Mr. Fox, but her _Lord Husband_ was not to be seen. Her various informants throughout the Mojave could report nothing of Vulpes. It was as if he had vanished without a trace. It only made her all the more nervous about what he could have been planning.

And then Yes Man received confirmation. The Legate Lanius, Monster of the East, had arrived in the Mojave. The Battle for Hoover Dam would begin.

The plan, as strategized by Yes Man, would be to assist the NCR in defending the Dam against the Legion. Once the Legion had been pushed back, the Securitron army would roll in, overwhelming the NCR and forcing them to surrender and flee back west.

With all the pieces in play, it was time for her to take her position at the Dam.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the final chapter, the moment we've all been waiting for. It's QUITE long, longer than any other chapter. I didn't want to break up the sections, believing the best effect would be when read all together. I tried to remain authentic to the in-game feel so some of the preset dialogue of certain characters has been copied verbatim (not much, if you're quite familiar with the dialogue cuts though, you'll see the familiarity). The title receives its explanation; and realize, this is the *end* for this story. If you do not like my ending, I apologize, but I felt this was most appropriate.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for your readership. I do wish to say that if you enjoyed this story, you may subscribe to me. I have other stories (Fallout stories included) planned. I also write books, which are published. Feel free to peruse my profile or search me up on Fanfiction.Net for more information on that.
> 
> For now, enjoy.

The room was dry and dark, shafts of light peering through the cracks of the aged wooden planks of the house. She had been here before. This was Doc Mitchell's house.

She sat on his sofa as she had before, legs crossed and fidgeting, impatient and anxious. She had already done this.

The old doctor seated himself across from her. "I'm going to be showing you some pictures, and I want you to say the first thing to come to mind—"

"We've already done the ink blots," she pointed out plaintively.

He stole a glance at the cards in his hands, flicking through his collection. "No, I don't believe we've done this yet."

She sighed impatiently but argued no further.

Doc Mitchell leaned back in his chair, contemplating her. "Would you rather we talk first?"

"Talk about what?"

"Anything from _before_ come to mind yet? Remember your name? _Anything_?"

She frowned, saying nothing. Her continued fidgeting was answer enough for him.

He looked back down at his cards. "Okay, no need to get yourself worked up. Let's get started."

He paused, as if waiting for some breath of anticipation. It only made her that much more impatient.

"Try to relax, there's no right or wrong answer. And I don't think you're going to be late for a doctor's appointment." Doc Mitchell wasn't the sort to laugh at his own jokes, but he allowed himself a chuckle for her benefit.

She tried to take his advice and relax, flexing the stiff muscles of her fingers. She attempted a smile, unsure what had her so wound up.

"This is going to be a little different than that lady's ink blots. Say the first word that comes to mind with the picture and then after that, choose either good or bad. Understand?"

She nodded.

"Okay, I'll start you on an easy one. Tell me about this."

Doc Mitchell held up the first picture, and it showed a likeness of Carla and Baby Craig. It jarred something in her perception, as if Doc Mitchell's house briefly flickered out of focus. Carla and Baby Craig did not fit in the context of her time with Doc Mitchell. But when she blinked, everything remained still as normal. He waited patiently for her answer.

"Uh," she began lamely to collect herself. "Family."

"Good or bad?"

"Good."

"And what about this one?" He held up a picture of Boone.

"Ranger—where did you get these?"

"Good or bad?"

"Good. Doc—"

"Please, don't interrupt for the sake of the test. What about this one?" It was Benny.

This one made her clench her teeth. "Checkered Jacket. Murderer."

"Well, that's technically three words, but I suppose it doesn't matter. Good or bad?"

The answer was automatic. "Bad."

The next one was Siri.

"Slave." She hesitated. "Good."

"You think slaves are good?" he mused more to himself.

"No—" she quickly tried to explain.

"It's all right. Things get taken out of context. Now. This one might be a little harder." The picture was of Silus.

Her body reacted much more violently than with Benny. "Sick bastard. Bad."

"Easier—" He held up a picture of Sarah from the Vault 21 hotel.

"Lonely. Good."

The computerized visage of Mr. House was next.

"Greed. Bad."

The next one surprised her. Doc Mitchell showed a picture of Victor.

And despite how things ended with Mr. House, she felt fondness for the robot. "Savior. Good."

"That's interesting. How about this fellow?" Lord Caesar was next.

"Tyrant."

"Good or bad?"

"Bad."

"Next?" Arcade Gannon.

She felt like smiling. "Self-deprecating."

"Well there's a fancy word if I ever heard one. Good or bad?"

"Good."

"This one might be a little difficult for you." Martina Groesbeck.

She tried swallowing past the venom she felt welling up in her mouth. "Whore. Bad."

"And last but not least—" Of course, Vulpes Inculta.

This one actually gave her pause. She leaned back, studying the angled planes of his face, his icy blue eyes. The emotions he stirred conflicted with one another. "I don't know, there's just so much to say about him."

"I don't need a story, just a word. We're almost done here."

After a minute of struggling, she finally settled. "Demon."

"Good or evil?"

"You didn't say evil for the others?" she pointed out, confused.

"I didn't need to. Good or evil?" He was calm but there was something about the question that made her feel rushed.

"I don't know. Can there even be a good demon?"

"You tell me. Why would you call him a demon if he wasn't evil in the first place?"

"And if he calls me his queen?" she proposed, her voice trailing off in thought.

"Queens can be good or evil. Benevolent or tyrannical. Demons might also be similarly misunderstood or cursed."

"And what doe that mean if I'm the queen of some demon?" she asked, feeling that lash of venom for Martina, the wave of self-deprecation that belonged to Arcade.

"I don't answer the questions. I just ask them," Doc Mitchell said unhelpfully. He continued this train of thought. "Lucifer, a demon or a manifestation of evil in every respect, was once an archangel of God, the right hand of His, so to speak. But Lucifer was cast from Heaven for desiring to be as his Lord. Now if God is truly the Creator, the Force of Goodness in the world, why would he choose someone he would later retract? If God is the source of righteousness, why would it be a sin for Lucifer to be like him, unless God is not this image of purity we've painted for him."

"You're rambling," she said. "I don't see how this is relevant."

"It is entirely relevant. This exercise of picture associations with good or bad is imperative to how you identify the people in your life. A slave, a girl's loneliness, and a man's self-deprecation are good in your eyes, but when the word is 'demon,' with obviously strong connotations with evil, you struggle to name it as such."

She shook her head, still not understanding.

He leaned closer. "So do you bend the rules, your morality, your perception of goodness in the world for a demon with a queen?"

* * *

She came to with the reverberating thunder of explosives, plaster and dust coating her face. A faint ringing in one ear and no sound in the other. A few blinks, a quick sweep of her surroundings reminded her where she was. In the middle of the Battle for Hoover Dam. A blast had erupted dangerously close to her, and she had feared that her hero's journey had come to its second premature end.

Fortunately, it seemed to be merely delayed.

She shook the eerie feeling of calmness that Doc Mitchell's house evoked. It was a dream, a hallucination. It was nothing of substance; it didn't mean anything. She picked herself up, her knees and hands weak. She patted the debris around her, searching for her revolver. She eventually found it beneath the rubble.

The air shook with ballistics, and she tasted the metallic coating of gunpowder against her tongue. Smoke filled her nostrils, creeping through to her lungs like a heavy mask.

This was the flavor of battle in all its shattering glory. Though she still recalled next to nothing from Before the Bullet, her perception of combat was not changed. War never changes.

Legion swarmed in its brutish force and in subterfuge, taking to the subterranean levels of the Dam, exploiting its weaknesses. The NCR did valiantly in pushing them back, given their mad scramble for survival. The Enclave vertibird provided air support at just the right moment. Nelson charged in with their own bombs and a B-29 in full support.

All that was left was the Legate. Monster of the East.

After picking herself up from the blast, she pushed her way through the sea of streaming soldiers. NCR. Legion. It mattered not who passed her, brushing past her shoulder or elbow.

She reached the end of the Dam, pushed open the loose, swinging gate. And made her ascent to Fortification Hill. Not as some profligate slave, wife of the Head Frumentarii with some borrowed, Latinized name.

She was the Courier Reborn.

The Legate was recognizable enough, standing as a brandished spearpoint of the Legion with his armor glinting in the blaze of afternoon sun. He stood on an outcropping that placed him above his army, dogs circling viciously around him.

She came to him, slowly, deliberately. Unafraid. Though Lanius was masked, when he tilted his head at her approach, she imagined his mysterious face held some measure of curiosity.

She spoke to him when she had approached him within range. "You must be the Legate."

His voice was booming, like the thunderous peals of a beating war drum. "I am the commander of this army. The Son of Mars has granted me the name Lanius. And the time to serve him has come once more."

She lightly rested her hand on her gun. "You certainly have had a reputation in the Mojave. But I suppose no one has told you about me."

"I have come from the East to conquer the West as Caesar's will. I have no need for idle whispers of profligate slatterns."

"Legate, any great soldier, military leader knows to familiarize themselves with what they intend to conquer." She began pacing in a slow circle, eliciting several nasty snarls from his hounds. "You should know the weaknesses of the West to exploit them, as should you know its Champion in order to defeat _her_."

There was a gurgling, a low laugh. "I've no love of barbed words and hidden meanings. What the West holds is of little consequence to me. Everything profligate is weak. Everything weak bows or breaks to the path of the Legion, and I shall deal their death to them accordingly."

She chuckled herself. "You speak of death as if you are some master. But is the true master of death one who deals it or who can look death in the face and return to the realm of the living?"

"You speak as if your idle titles should mean something to me. My patience runs thin for this conversation."

She stopped, looking at him curiously. "Truly, you have not heard of me? Your Lord Caesar has done you a great disservice, set you up for failure if he so much as neglect to warn you of me."

The ground shook. Both of them held their balance."Telling me this does not benefit you at all... you gamble with your words and my patience."

"Then, Legate, look me up and down. Examine your greatest opponent for your own sake and tell me what you see. You should be allowed a moment to study the danger set before you. You come to the Mojave, New Vegas, seeking to conquer. You will find it a difficult task. You will find that you shall fall."

Lanius took a moment to reflect on her words, seemingly intrigued. She couldn't tell for certain. "You see yourself as some protector, a Savior of the West? You shall bring death with your defiance."

"Where you see death, I see change, and I see it as a strength. I see the Legion's violence ending forever here at Hoover Dam."

"War bequeaths violence and demands strength. Violence gave you that strength, awakened you. I can see it upon your face, where two bullets left their mark."

She leveled her gaze as the ground shook once more. She could hear the Securitrons advancing. "You have lost this battle, and I have made sure of it. To further challenge me would only be folly."

By then, the Securitrons pooled into the nearby area, claiming the annihilation of the Legion camp further up the hill. Lanius regained his footing and looked around. "There is victory in wisdom. As for wisdom, there is wisdom in your words, woman of the West. Perhaps it is unfortunate Vulpes was not here to hear your words, something tells me you would prove more than his match."

Something turned in her stomach at that comparison, but she kept her serene expression unchanged. His hounds scattered, and the Legate disappeared with the incoming Securitrons to claim victory of the Battle of Hoover Dam. Yes Man rolled up to her to describe the successes over the Legion of Fortification Hill. The minimal amount of survivors were fleeing. But that paved the way for a new wave of troops: the NCR with their esteemed leader General "Wait and See" Oliver at their head. She had made a point to learn a few things of the NCR before leaving for the Dam, namely the names of their officers.

"Good work, soldier," the General said stiffly, stepping up to her. "I don't believe I've seen this kind of work in a long time. It always does me some good to see Legion screaming and running. Now stand aside, you and these Securitrons, to allow the NCR through."

She could only marvel in bewilderment at his entitled instincts, laughing at the sight of the fleeing Legion. He would never understand the tenor of their spirit, their sheer dedication to their own cause. At least the Legion worked tirelessly and understood a certain degree of placement in the order of things. Oliver would never understand the sort of nerve it took to confront Lanius in any form of amicability. The NCR disgusted her. "You are mistaken, General," she said shortly. "My efforts against the Legion were not made for the sake of the NCR. Hoover Dam belongs to me and the people of the Mojave. The NCR will not use it again to exploit these people. Leave now while my good mood still lasts."

Unsurprisingly, this seemed to enrage him. "Look, I know you're riding high right now, but let me tell you. You ain't pissing on me right now, you're pissing on the Bear."

"The Bear?" she scoffed "Is that supposed to intimidate me? Don't make me laugh. What has the Bear done today? The Bear did not win this battle. I did. The Republic has outstayed its welcome. Now leave, _quickly_."

His face reddened, he leaned closer to spit his words out in disgust. "I would sooner spit on the grave of my dead mother than let some Courier, 'walk-the-wasteland' fuck talk to me like that."

"Look behind you, General. This 'walk-the-wasteland' fuck, as you put it, has a stronger army than you, one that does not bleed as yours does. I would choose your next words carefully. My good humor is running out."

"So we're supposed to turn around and make out West with our tail between our legs? While you stand here and hold the Dam by your lonesome?"

"You think I can't? I just stood down Caesar's toughest General, the Monster of the East. I believe you are familiar with him."

She watched his humiliation in his red face and burning eyes. But luckily, General Wait and See lived up to his name. "Hell. Can't believe we got suckered by some road jockey. Should've watched the flank while Caesar's best was making all that noise. I know what those robots of yours can do on a bad day, and I'm not eager to toss lives at them just to make a point. But if you're taking this place, you better hope you can hold it. I'll give my superiors my opinion, but I don't think they're going to listen. So if NCR comes at you, and it will, pray you're ready. I promise you, our situations reversed, I'd see you hang."

She waited two full beats for him to turn and walk away before her temper got the best of her. She didn't like to be threatened by some coward of general, not after everything she had been through. "Yes Man, please throw General Oliver off the Dam."

The robot whirred toward him. As she smirked devilishly, she could hear Oliver saying, "What the hell? No, get away from me, you goddamn TV on wheels!"

His petitions were short-lived. Yes Man made a quick ceremony of flinging his rag doll body over the Dam. His useless screams reverberated throughout the canyon, making her pleased, perhaps more than she should be. Yes Man returned shortly to congratulate her on wrapping things up.

But not everything had been wrapped up. There was one prominent loose end remaining, and she didn't know where to even begin tying it.

When the last of the NCR fled in the wake of the Legion, she walked along the Dam, squinting at the sinking, afternoon sun that glinted against the river like sheets of rippling metal. It reminded her of the Legate's armor. She didn't recall anyone else in the Legion wearing anything so glorious.

When her stroll along the Dam was completed, she decided to inspect the ashes of the Legion herself. She sent Yes Man back to the Lucky 38 for a software update and the rest of the securitrons to Vegas to begin their tireless watch over the Mojave. But she had to see the Legion's extermination for herself.

The tents were ripped from their posts or smoldering in ash. The defensive wall no longer towered around the encampment but lay in shambles on the ground or floating down the river. The crosses had been torn down or burned with their hapless victims. The awaiting securitrons had done their work well, and she was pleased to see her efforts rewarded against her captors. The Legion would no longer impose such cruelty on her lands.

She made it all the way to where Caesar's tent once stood. Only more ash, the burned shadows marking the ground, and abandoned tent posts signaled the place that held the once heralded Mars Reborn, Caesar. She hoped that he had been a casualty but would settle, for now, on the ambiguity of the Legion's destruction. Looking down the hill, she could even see the where the destroyed weather station once stood, its mangled frame the only remnant of its existence.

Good. No one would ever suffer the horrors she had experienced in there.

When the smell of smoke and cinders began to twist her stomach, she turned to leave Fortification Hill once and for all. But standing just a few feet away was someone she never expected. Maybe the only person she would expect, truly. Vulpes Inculta.

He wore his full Legion armor, complete with the fur of his vexillarius helmet. It was pristine, unscratched or tarnished by battle. Perhaps he was the proof that the Legion still survived in the Mojave, unlike what she had thought moments before. Perhaps he was there for another motivation. She couldn't fathom it. She was strongly reminded of her imagined discussion with Doc Mitchell concerning demons, queens, and morality.

"Vulpes," she said merely, her voice sounding muted in their windswept surroundings.

He stepped closer. "Maria, at last we have come full circle." He turned his face fractionally to survey the apparent damage left by the securitrons. "Congratulations on your battle efforts. It seems you were successful in your endeavors." He took another few steps until they were standing a short distance apart, his eyes returning to gaze upon her in full severity.

"The real shame lies in your absence. You did not participate in nor witness my prowess," she pointed out plaintively.

His hands went behind his back. "I witnessed every moment; make no mistake." He paused. "I believe this is the place where we first saw each other, at least in the Mojave."

The confrontation with Caesar and Carla seemed so long ago for her rather young memory. "What are you doing here? What is your plan?"

"Plan?" he repeated with no small amount of derisive hostility. "I have no _plan_. I am composed of experiences and determination. I have purpose."

"Purpose?" she repeated. "I do not understand. Why did you not fight with the Legion?" she asked. There was a minute part of her that hoped, that _wished_ Vulpes might prove loyal to her in the end. She found that possibility quite improbable when she didn't have his love. He had admitted as such to her in their last encounter. But Vulpes Inculta, if nothing else, was a liar, a manipulator of truth and bender of words. He loved contorting them for his own use. Lanius himself was aware of this.

"Why would I have fought with the Legion?" he posed. "When you confirmed my suspicions about the bunker in Novac, I realized the folly of the Legion's attempts to capture the Dam."

"You could have warned your Legion instead of deserting them," she criticized.

His eyes tightened at the insult, but Vulpes otherwise ignored the remark. "And risk your volatile temper? While I do value my own combat ability, I am not so ignorant to recognize that you could have and would have killed me for that lapse in judgment."

"So why are you here?" she pressed, becoming impatience.

Those eyes never wavered. "The battle is your calling. You are unstoppable while on its threshold, so much so that while teetering on the precipice of life and death, you could not resist the mounting tensions in the Mojave. If anything, you encouraged them. You may not remember anything from before your fateful encounter with Benny, but your instincts had you cling so desperately to life. You would not give up an opportunity for war. It is your life's essence; it follows you around like a dear shadow."

This description of her left her trembling, her throat constricting. She hated its accuracy, and yet, it fit her much better than the life he had painted for her in Novac. "I don't understand."

"You don't understand?" he scoffed in disbelief. "You had many exploits before the Legion captured you. Powder Gangers and raider gangs. Ghouls and NCR dogs. You invited those encounters. The arena battle with another slave and your choice to engage Benny. Killing Mr. House and Silus. Igniting your securitron army. The Courier Reborn breeds war. You didn't have the nerve to kill Lanius, not because you couldn't or you held yourself to some higher standard of morality. You saw his potential as a solider and a replacement of Caesar, while you easily detected the weakness of General Oliver and disposed of him as such, a simple matter of survival of the fittest, the strongest. You fancied yourself as some hero with a divine quest, but you just required a mask to wear as you march through the Mojave. War never changes; and neither do you."

Her body tensed. She felt Vulpes should not be standing so close to her, but she was never one to shy away from a challenge. "That doesn't line up with your description of me from Before the Bullet."

He took a step closer, too close. She felt his breath like a breeze against her cheek. "I lied."

She never saw the blade that pierced her abdomen, right below her rib cage. But she felt the breath escape her chest and the impassiveness of his stare while his face remained as unchanged as weathered stone. He had the courtesy of wrapping his other arm around her waist, keeping her upright as her knees buckled and fell beneath her.

She didn't need to ask why; she didn't have the breath to draw as the thick, wetness of blood bubbled in her throat.

But Vulpes could be counted upon his chivalry, explaining the depth of his actions, almost to a fault. "The Legion lost a battle today. The Legion has lost other battles before this day. They have always returned to conquer, and eventually they will. The Legion is the only force of constancy in the Wasteland, and when they come to collect the bounty of the Mojave, to forge the reaches of their empire, you will not be here to stop them."

She pressed her lips together, swallowing the bile. She leaned against him for support, much to her displeasure.

And he was romantic enough to grace his murder with a kiss upon the neck. It was the only warmth she could ever recall from him.

He listed off his feats one by one, adding her to his collection. "I've burned Nipton, poisoned Searchlight, and now I've dethroned the Courier Reborn."

But the Courier would be allowed a final victory, though Death was not kind enough to relinquish her a second time. With her remaining strength, she drew her revolver and squeezed the trigger. She didn't hear the gunshot, but she saw Vulpes Inculta greet Death before her. The physical vestiges of his greatest weapon and his life force, his brain and blood, splattered against her face.

Then fall, Demon and Queen.


End file.
